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'f^''^ 


<'. 


X  UNTA  1. 1.:  N  K 


.  A>..-  >  .»j  /.., 


THE 


Zn^ 


ESSAYS         /^/iS^ 

OF 

MICHAEL  DE  MONTAIGNE. 

TRANSLATED  INTO  ENGLISH, 

\ntn  TEST  COimOERABLE 

AMENDMENTS  AND   IMPROVEMENTS 

raox 

THE  MOST  ACCURATE  FRENCH  EDITION  OF 

PETER  COSTE. 


IN   THREE  VOLUMES 


LONDON: 


1>AINTE0  FOR  W.  MILLER,  ALBEMARLE  STREET  ;  WHITE  AND 
COCHRANE,  FLEET  STREET  ;  AND  LACKIN6T0N,  KImUL}^^  AND 
CO.,  FINSBURY  SQUARE; 

B^  C.  Baldvrio,  New  Brfdge-itreet. 

1811. 


/ 


\ 


.  v 


i.vi.JK' 


(/1> 


THE 


PREFACE 

TO   THE 

SEVENTH  ENGLISH   EDITION 


OP 


MONTAIGNE'S  ESSA^' 


^  xx^  ^aaa  versjpn  of  these  Essays  was 

published  in  the  year  1603,  by  Mr.  Mono,*  but 
they  were  much  better  translated  in  the  reign  of 
king  Charles  II.  by  Charles  Cptton,  Esq.  (famous  for 
his  witty  poetry  on  the  Wonders  of  the  Peak),  and 
George  Savil,  marquis  of  Hallifax,  then  lord  privy* 
seal,  and  afterwards  president  of  the  council,  to 
whom  that  translation  was  dedicated,  hououred  it 
with  his  special  approbation,  by  the  flawing- letter 
to  the  translator,  at  his  house  at  Berisford,'ini  l)erby- 
shire. 

*  This  gentleman^  whose  ancestors  were  the  Horii  of  Sienna,  in 
Tuscany,  was  for  some  time  a  teacher  at  Ms^gdalen  College,  in  the 
University  of  Oxford ;  and,  afler  king  James  I.  came  to  the  crown, 
was  appointed  tutor  to  prince  Henry,  in  the  Italian  and  French 
tongues ;  and  compiled  a  Dictionary,  Italian  and  English,  which 
«i  first  printed  at  London,  in  1.^97.  Having  lived  to  a  good  old 
-B,  he  died  at  Fulham,  of  the  plague,  in  1625. 

a  2 


PREFACE, 

«  Sir, 

**  I  have  too  long  delayed  my  thanks  to  you  far  giving  me 
'^  such  an  obliging  evidence  of  your  remembnuice:  That  aloatf 
^'  wouldhavebeenvwekwifpieaeatj  kutiriien  joined  with  the 
'*  bode  in  the  virorld  I  am  best  entertained  with,  it  raiseth  a  stroiig 
'^  desire  in  me  to  be  better  known,  where  I  am  sure  to  be  so 
^  much  pleased.    1  have,  until  now,  thought  wit  could  not  be 
^  translatecti  and  (|q  still  itetUQ  so  much  of  th^t  opbion,  that  I 
"  believe  it  impossible,  except  by  one  whose  genius  oometh  up  to 
^  that  of  the  author.    You  have  the  original  strength  of  hii 
^  thought,  that  it  alitiost  tempts  a  man  to  believe  the  transroigra- 
^  tion  of  souls ;  and  thai  his,  being  used  to  hiU^  is  come  into  the 
**  moor-lands,  ic  reward  us  here  in  England,  fordoing  him  more 
'^  right  than  his  counuy  will  afford  him.     He  hath  by  your 
^^  means  mended  his  first  editioB.     To  transplant  and  itiake 
*'    him  ours,  is  not  only  a  valuable  acquisition  to  us,   but«^ 
"Just  oensuve  ot  the  critical  impertinence  of  diose  Fvendi 
*'  s0ibblara,  who  have  taken  pains  to  make  Httle  cavUs  and  ex* 
(«  ceptioBs  to  lessen  the  reputation  of  ihisgreat  maii,  whom 
^'  ^ture  hath  ma^  too  big  to  con^e  him  to  the  exact- 
<f  ness  of  a  studied  style.     He  let  his  mind  have  its  full  fliight,. 
"  and  showeth,  by  a  generous  kind  of  negligeiice,  tliat  he  did 
•*  not  write  fbr  praise,  but  to  give  the  world  a  true  picture  of 
^  hiaaself,  and  oF  mankind.    He  scorned  affected  periods,  or  to 
^  pleasB  the  mistaken  reader  with  an  empty  chine  of  woids 
*^  He  bath  m  aflbctim  ta  set  bimsctf  o«t,  and  dependeth  whoUjr 
'f  upon  the  natural  force  of  what  is  his  own,  and  the  excellent 
"  application  of  what  he  borroweth. 

''  You  see,  sir,  I  have  kindness  enough  for  Monsieur  de  Mon-p 
«  taigne  to  be  your  rival ;  but  nobody  can  now  pretend  to  be  in 
"  equal  competition  with  you :  1  do  willingly  yield  it  is  no  small 
*^  matter  for  a  man,  to  do  to  a  more  prosperous  lover;  and  if 
"  you  will  repay  this  piece  of  justice  with  another,  pray  believe, 
<<  thi^t  he  wlio  can  translate  such  an  author  Witlvxit  doing  torn 
^  wrong,  miisi  not  only  make  me  glad,  but  proud  of  bemg  hk 

^  Very  humUe  Servant, 

''  Hallifax/' 


PA£FJIC£. 

Td  the  Gdttimendaiiab  c^f  Moiftaign«>  ^nd  bi^  in^ 
genious  translator,  by  so  great  a  man,  it  i^  b« 
needless  to  aild  IMyre ;  but  it  may  be  jn^stttned  ihe 
reader  WiB  hens  «xfiedt  to  be  satkfled,  whefete  this 
k  to  ttiti6h  preferable  tiaf  aiiy  of  the  fbriner  6(ttiioltt 
mEnglMi- 

Mr.  Cdttoti  indeed  suigeedded  to  a  mimde  in  hii 
trdiislatioii  of  So  Geletoate4  a  piece :  and  we  tf  A 
thoroughly  pers\iaded  that  very  few  Frenohmra^ 
except  pet^htfps  «>me  iiMiVes  of  Guienne,  w^e  th<^ 
to  utidertAke  the  task,  would  And  theimelvM  oa^ 
ble  of  turnling  Montaigne's  Essays  into  inodeMi 
French,  with  the  s^me  spirit,  and  the  same  jastict 
to  the  ^thoir  i  but  yet  our  translator  was  fkr  (torn 
fai&Uible.     He  had  certainly  one  of  the  mo^t  difl^  ' 
«hilt  books  in  the  world  to  struggle  wiA,  as  be  OoIb^ 
plained  himself  in  his  Pre&ce,  when  he  says,  ^^  The 
^^  language  of  his  original  was  in  many  places  so 
^^  ungrammatical  and  abstruse,  that  though  he  un-^ 
**  derstood  French  as  well  as    any  man,  he  had 
**  sometimes  been  forced  to  grope  for  his  meaning." 
It  is  no  wonder  then  that  his  translation  was  often 
mistaken  in  the  true  sense  of  the  author,  any  more 
than  that  the  style  of  it  should,  after  more  than 
seventy  years,  appear  in  many  places  uncouth  and 
obsolete.     Indeed  the  latter  was  polished  or  rather 
modernised  in  some  pages  of  our  last  edition ;  but  in 
the  present  one,    it    is  corrected    and    improved 
throughout,  besides  the  rectifying  of  many  mistakes, 
which  Mr.  Cotton  probably  would  not  have  been 
guilty  of,had  hebeen  assisted  by  thosedictionariespub- 
lishedsince  his  time,  that  are  the  best  explainersof  the 


PREFACE. 

Gascoh  language,  which  was  Montaigne's  mother- 
tongue. 

Tins  new  edition  will,  it  is  presumed,  be  received 
by  the  public,  with  the  more  favour,  not  only  be- 
cause the  editor  had  those  helps  so  necessary  for 
explaining  the  author's  true  meaning,  but  because  it 
is; translated  from  that  accurate  French  edition  of 
these  Essays  in  17S4,  by  Peter  Coste,  who  formerly 
trimslated  many  of  Mr.  Locke's  excellent  tracts 
with  applause,  into  the  French  language,  and  was 
therefore  encouraged  in  executing  the  said  edition 
of  Montaigne's  Essays,  by  the  subscription  of 
many  of  our  chief  nobility  and  gentry. 

After  submitting  our  best  efforts  for  doing  it  jus- 
tice, to  the  candour  of  the  public,  we  refer  them  to 
what  Mr.  Coste  himself  has  said,  of  the  preference 
of  his  to  all  the  other  Fiench  editipns. 


PREFACE 

OF 

PETER   COSTE, 

TO   HIS 

FRENCH  EDITION 

OF 

MONTAIGNE'S    ESSAYS. 


xxLL  men  of  good  sense  have  long  been  agreed  as  to  the  me- 
rit of  Montaigne's  Essays.  For  my  own  port,  I  do  not  pre- 
tend to  make  a  formal  harangue  m  their  praise,  nor  to  enter  into  a 
discussion  of  the  criticisms  that  have  been  passed  upon  them : 
for  as  to  thjrir  merit,  I  can  add  nothing  to  what  has  been  already 
said  of  it  by  others ;  and  am  persuaded,  that  such  as  shall  read 
the  woric,  with  any  application,  will  be  easily  convinced  of  thc^ 
weakness  of  most  of  those  criticisms. 

But  there  is  one  thing  upon  which  I  cannot  help  making  some 
reflections,  before  I  show  the  advantages  of  this  edition  above 
those  which  have  been  published  hitherto ;  and  that  is  the  noble 
candour-  Montaigne  has  demonstrated  throughout  the  whole 
book,  and  finom  which  he  has  not  once  departed. 

Montaigne  has  been  very  much  censured  for ,  having  made 
himself  so  much  the  subject  of  his  book :  but  this  objection  has 
been  refuted  a  thousand  times,  and  I  have  heard  it  very  often 
repeated  in  company,  where  I  could  easily  perceive,  that  they 
who  made  it  were  not  very  well  acquainted  with  Montaigne's 
manner  of  painting  himself  in  this  book.  He  has  done  it  with 
so  much  sincerity,  that  there  is  all  the  reason  in  the  world  ^o 
believf  that  he  engaged  in  so  difficult  an  undertaking,  not  so 


PREFACE  OF 

much  out  of  vanity,  as  to  commuhicate  iustruction.  It  is,  how- 
ever, certain,  that  the  picture  he  lias  here  drawn  of  himself,  is 
in  the  nature  of  a  feithfUl  mirroi^  nfl^^r^m  all  men  may  discover 
some  of  their  own  features,  if  they  will  but  take  the  trouble  to 
view  themselves  in  it  attentively,  and  with  an  honest  design  to 
see  what  they  are  i|i  reajii^  And  to  ^9^  purpose  will  it  be ; 
for,  in  this  world,  a  man  must  be  very  careful  to  inspect  himself, 
or,  by  living  at  random,  be  incessantly  exposed  to  the  derision  of 
other  men,  and  be  a  p^ey  tg  bjs  owp  foiUes,^  always  in  uneasiness 
and  confusion,  and  always  repining  at  evils,  of  which  he  will 
neither  know  the  cause,  nor  (he  proper  remedy.  '^  If,"  as 
Montaigq^snys^^veiyviiellupoBthi^QCCi^iQP,  ^  tk^w^W  com- 
<^  plains,  that  I  speak  too  much  of  myself,  I  complain  that  they 
^^  do  not  so  much  as  thiak  et  iheflMelves."  Would  men  but 
try  to  imitate  Montaigne's  freedom^  and  paint  themselves  in  th^iir 
genj^io^  cqIomts^  X\^y  wiU  aosHk  perceive  tlia  undertaking  not  tq 
h0  SQ  W^p^V^s  4#  it  W  dif^k  to  ex«€Ut^. 

Th#  ge^fr^lity  of  iift«9kM  ^re  90  blMed  by  a  filial  compkuh 
s^q^e  tp  tj^^^m^elvesj  ^  by  am  mtjustiiabk  kftvd  of  $b«nr>  that^ 
C^  kon^  bttpg  aUo  to  u^wnask  tbeQwdvea  to  the  public^  wHh  4mt 
a^i^le  un^eTby  w<bt€h  api^ean  loi  MiNifta|gii«>  Aeji  have  Ml 
e^4n  the  cQM««ec  tQ  pi^  into  the  seeret  i€oe8se»<rftbw'  owa 
hearts,  in  order  to  make  a  private  dvicovefy  to  tbemsehBetof  thair 
ci9m  foJK^K  l^viti^  and  Ae  tnie  vocivta  of  thmr  actioos. 
That  u«d(»abu:4ly  h  the  leaaQii  whf,  of  ao  many  wrkert  vkct 
bAv«  app^ar^  in  print  m€»  M0Mugae,  and  of  whom  mMs 
^v<  be<o,b}itftkti  imitators  (a  tribe  whick  has.  ever  bemdii» 
most  numerous  ii)  tke  rapublic  of  feUors),.  tJkie  haa  not  appf«BO|l 
<MM  wh^  aj^eitipMd  tQ  walk  ia  liis  steps^ 

TW  ifl  ma  roaiarkaUe^  ^mH  the  duke  of  Buckingham^  mar^wirf 
^  Nomsmdy,  &fi;  fiwnoua  for  a  nice  discenMucnt^  and  a  jud^* 
i^ont  wUch  waft  9Qvep  su^pjBctod  of  bcuog  cbuded  hy  aa  k}|tt 
Qfm^^^mWifij  09  ill  growd^^  pxejudice^  took  OGeaafaii  foon 
tmcQ  to.  piiss:  a.  poUe  cQOipUiQ€ttt  upon  Montage.  For,  aftet 
having  mcv^ttoiMd  Ck«Q»anc|lp{d  ChancoUnr  JBaeoo^  as  two  e»^ 

•  VoL  tii.  chap.  i. 


FBTBR  COtn* 

<!ellmt  geniitfes^  vrhcxe  ccmJhetiiMiftianmMifttgntwMithe  wise^ 
maxims  whkh  adoaed ^wir  writbgB^  be  myiliM  Oose  two  ce- 
lebmted  M^han  woidd  have  done  miidi  mofe  service  to.  the  pub« 
He,  if  Aey  bad  given  it  a  candid  and  particalar  account  of  the 
true  Moses  of  that  eontndietion.  *  ^  But/'  he  add^«  ^  we  must 
^  XMfver  expect  so  much  sincerity  in  any  writer^  except  the  in* 
*^  comparable  Montsigney  who  m  Vke  to  stand  alone  to  all  pos* 
<*  terity.    Iknow  very  welV'  oootmues  the  duke  of  BnfkJBg- 
ham,  '<  that  Montaigne  is  chaiged  frith  vanity,  but  b  osy  opi- 
'*  nion  without  reasm— And  supposing  it  true  that  he  has  not 
^  been  altogether  exempt  from  i^  never  did  any  person  take  so 
^  right  a  method  to  di^guke  It;'' for  as  all  hb  vanity  was  to  pub- 
llsb  his  foibles  and  imperfections  as  freely  as  his  good  qualities,  It 
was  a  vanity  of  a  very  partieular  spades,  and  peibaps  would  de- 
serve another  name. 

Montaigne  ^eaks  of  hb  bodt,  with  the  same  frankness  as  be 
does  of  himself.  ^  • 

Besides  tlie  quotaticms  with  which  he  has  enriched  it,  he  con- 
fesses ingenuously  that  he  has  concealed  the  names  of  many  ee- 
lebrated^audiors,  whose  reasons  and  comparisons  he  hm  tnuis- 
planted  into  hb  work,  purposely  to  awe  those  rash  censuieis,  who 
jao  sooner  see  a  new  book  come  out,  but  they  set  about  critids- 
Ing  it ;  moreover,  so  lar  was  he  from  a  thought  of  appiopriatmg 
the  sentiments  of  another  writer  to  himself,  that  he  says,t  <^  He 
^  should  love  any  one  that  could  by  a  clear  judgment  strip  him 
^  of  hb  borro\^  ftathers."    For  my  own  part,  I  have  not  ta- 
ken a  great  deal  of  pains  to  tmee  those  foreign  thoughts,  yet  I 
have  discovered  a  gqod  number  of  them  in  each    volume, 
though  more  by  chance,  or  by  meaMMfy,  than  fay  that  sort  of  dis- 
cernment, which  Montingae  requircB  in  those  who  should  ujor 
d^ake  txy  divest  hn  of  hb  phtnuq^. 

'  HetelbuswithtliesnnefraahBess,^  <^  That  he  a^ires  every 
^  where  to  rise  to  an  equriity  witti  hb  thefts^  and  to  go  the 
^  same  pace  with  them  :**  butheadMs^  ^ft  b  as  mncKowtngto 

•  Vol.  ii.  p.  S66,  of  the  Workf  of  John  Sheffield  doke  of  Bdckioshan. 
t  rot.  Ii.  of  MoMaigiie*iEaayi«  dap.  i.  OfAoka. 
t  Vol.  i.  chap.  zxr.  Oi  tl»  B^icafion  of  Cbilifreii. 

10 


VRBFAOB  or 

^^  his  application,  as  his  iavention/'  Indeed  his  book  aliounds 
with  {wssages  taken  from  the  best  authorSi  which  he  has  mafle 
fab  own,  by  clothing  tliem  in  a  dress  quite  n^w^  und  oft^n 
more  delicate  and  splendid  than  what  they  wear  ip  the  original. 
Was  I  to  particularise  ^U  these  ingenknis  applications  of  his^  I 
should  write  a  volume  instead  of  a  Preface.  One  single  instance, 
taken  from  tlie  21st  cliapter  of  the  first  volume,  will  be  sufficient 
to  excite  the  curiosity  of  such  readers,  as  have  a  taste  for  inqui- 
ries of  this  nature.  Ahnost  all  the  sentiments  of  that  chapter, 
are  inserted  verbatim  from  Seneca;  and,  by  the  application 
which  Montaigne  makes  of  them,  they  appear  to  be  pbun  obser- 
vations of  tlie  common  customs  of  life,  which  in  short  take  in  all 
human  nature. 

But  from  the  very  quotations  with  which  Mpntpigne  1^  en- 
riched his  book,  some  have  taken  occasion  to  impeach  his  sincer 
rity,  which  to  dispossess  him  of,  would  be  entirely  tp  defiice  his 
character.  ^^  How  comes  it,"  say  they,  ^^  that  Montaigne,  whp 
«  lias  filled  hi^  book  with  such  a  number  of  quotations,  com- 
^^  phins  so  often  and  so  bitterly  of  the  weakness  of  his  me- 
^^  mory  7  From  what  a  source  has  he  drawn  so  many  scraps  of 
'^  liistory,  and  all  those  beautiful  passages  of  which  he  has 
'^  made  such  singular  applications  ?  Was  it  not  his  memory  that 
'^  furnished  him  with  the  names  of  so  many  philosophers,  their 
^^  instrucdve  maxims  which  he  quotes  at  every  turn,  those  long 
'^  details  which  he  gives  of  their  sentiments,  on  the  nic^t 
^^  questions  of  natural  and  moral  philosophy,  on  the  pature  of 
^^  the  Divine  Being,  and  of  the  essence  and  immortality  of  the 
"  soul  ?" 

In  answer  to  this  objection,  without  entering  into  particulars, 
which  would  carry  us  too  £ur,  it  may  be  observed  in  the  first 
place,  that  for  want  of  memory,  Montaigne  has  spmetunes  fellen 
into  very  gross  errors,  as  where  he  mistook  Crates,*  for  So- 
crates ;t  one  Dionysius,  for  Diogenes  the  Cynic;  Heraclides 
Ponticus,^  for  Pythagoras;  and  where  he  makes  Thales§  say  the 
very  contrary  to  what  he  said,  as  he  sometimes  did  Plutarch  || 

•  Vol.  iii.  chap.  12.        +  Vol.  I.  chmp.  24.  J  Vol.  i.  chap.  25. 

i  Vol.  in.  chap.  2.  B  Vol.  li.  chap.  S,  aod  26. 


PIETKR  COSTJS. 

his  most  iBtimate  friend,  whose  works  he  always  had  ia  his 
handsy  and  from  whom  he  was  insepamble,  even  at  the  time  he 
was  inclined  <^  to  be  without  the  oompany*  and  th^  remembrance 
*'  of  every  other  book." 

In  the  second  place^  it  is  not  owing  to  memory,  nor  was  it  in 

the  heat  of  composition,  that  Montague  embellished  lib  book 

with  All  the  quotations  that  now  appear  in  it :  he  inserted  them 

for  the  most  part  at  his  leisure,  and  as  he  met  widi  them  in  the 

books  that  came  in  his  way.    To  be  ocmYinced  of  this  one  need 

only  ran  over  the  first  editions  of  the  Essays,  wherein  there  ase 

but  few  (flotations  in  chapters  wbidb  were  afterwards  fiiU  charged 

with  them.    For  instance,  in  )^  8d  ehapter  of  the  2d  Vo-: 

lume,  for  three  pages  together  there  is  a  great  display  of  the 

sentiments  of  all  the  most  celebrated  philosophers  of  antiquity^ 

concerning  the  nature  of  God ;  but  there  is  not  a  single  word 

of  it  in  the  first  editk>n  of  the  Essays  printed  at  Bourdeaux  in 

1580,  nor  in  that  at  Paris  in  1588.    And  in  the  editkni  which  I 

have  now  put  out,  it  will  appear  to  every  reader,  that  Montaigne 

met  with  all  those  sentiments  very  esacdy  exphiined  in  Cicero^ 

from  whence  it  was  very  easy  for  him,  without  any  efiorl  of  the 

memory,  to  transplant  them  into  liis  book. 

liere  I  cannot  avoid  taking  notice  of  a  censure  which  Mon- 
tdgne  has  veiy  frankly  passed  upon  himself,  and  as  to  which  no- 
body has  ever  once  thought  fit  to  contradict  him :  and  that  is 
what  he  says  in  his  third  volume,  of  hb  loose  and  incoherent 
li:ay  of  wx^ing,  or  as  he  .calls  it  himself,  by  leaps  and  skips.t 

Tliis  defect  is  not  absolutely  owing,  as  has  been  always  believ- 
ed, to  the  particular  genius  of  Mcmuiigne,  which  unaccountably 
drew  hi|n  frtyp  one  su1]gect  to  another,  so  that  he  was  not  capa- 
paUie  of  givioig  more  order  and  connection  to  his  own  thoughts ; 
but  to  the  many  additions  wfajeh  he  made  here  and  there  to  his 
book,  as  often  as  it  came  to  be  reprinted.  If  we  only  compare 
the  first  editions  of  the  Essays  ^h  those  that  followed,  it  is  ob- 
vious that  those  frequent  additions  have  very  much  perplexed 
and  confounded  such  arguments  as  were  originally  very  clear,  and 

«  Vol.  iil.  cbap.  4.  f  Yol.  iii.  chap.  8. 


tfeiy  Well  coiinetfted.  Monttigne'ft  style,  ^ch  ai  h  a^petb  In 
the  first  edttiOii%  add  such  «  it  etiind^  in  tbe  latter  edition!,  rf> 
ter  having  been  oomipted  bjr  those  additions,  mi^lif  be  eoit)|[taired[ 
to  a  pearl  neclclace ;  with  those  pearls,  though  at  Cbrst  all  per- 
fcctty  founds  and  of  «n  equal  siise,  others  should  be  tnixed  af- 
terwards altt^thet  as  fOtoad,  but  much  hunger,  whieh  at  Ae 
same  time  that  they  etthioced  the  price  of  the  necklace,  wDuM 
deprive  itof  great  part  of  its  bessu^.  The  case  is  the  same  with 
ilioiC  of  the  thoughts  wMch  Mdtitaigde  has  inserted,  troth  time 
10  licne,  in  his  book*  Oise  would  be  soriy  to  lose  them,  thotM^h, 
by  the  maauer  of  engMftlag  them  in  it,  they  disfigure  it  in  ttMHf 
plaees,  Beeaose  MotitaigM  himself  eduld,  without  any  dtffieul- 
ty»  perosive  the  chain  «f  his  irst  thoughts^  notwithstaddiog  dl 
hi$  iflseftions  that  htoke  thecwmieetion,  he  imagined  that  a'reader 
of  any  attefitiod  wotdd  diseevo  them  as  well  as  he  did.  But  in 
some  parte  of  bis  wortc,  the  traces  of  that  Connection  ^xe  so  iaint 
and  obscure,  that  It  catmot  be  perceived  without  cbusulting  the 
most  ancient  efitioAs.  Of  this  Aere  is  a  very  remarkable  in^ 
stftuce  in  the  notes  of  Vol.  IIL  Book  B^  and  many  others,  tf 
which  a  mote  particolar  discussion  would  be  very  dissgreeable  its 
this  place,  nnd  carry  me  to  an  esoessive  lengths 

Whatrem^iM  for  ine^  Is  briefly  to  demonstrate  tiie  advan- 
tages of  this  edition>  above  all  those  that  have  been  publiihed 
hitherto. 

Of  all  the  old  edhions  of  the  Essays^  the  only  fiutbemic  otd 
is  that  published  by  Angelier  at  Paris*  m  1596^  from  a  copy  th«t 
was  found  after  tlie  Author's,  decease^  as  we  a/e  posithrdy  assured 
hi  the  thie-page,  and  '<  that  had  been  revised  md  augmented; 
«  one  third  more  than  Ae  former  editions/'  Thas  is  the  very 
edition  from  which  I  have  caused  mine  io  be  printed^  without 
making  any  other  use  of  those  that  have  appeared  stnCe,  than 
merely  to  correct  the  fdolts  of  the  putts.  The  httter  editbns,  hr- 
deed,  have  had  greater  alterations  of  die  style;  but  as  I  have 
made  it  a  rule  to  myself,  to  publish  Montaigne's  book  just  as  he 
left  it  to  us  Inmsetfi  I  have  admitted  of  none  of  thoae  pretended 

«  With  the  exirnctir  of  the  king*!  licence  at  Paris,  Oct.  15»  1594. 


ptnui  contfi 

txmactitaB  of  langlia^^  ^i<^h  Often  tend  only  to  enervate  Moll» 
taigw's  sentlimnty  and  sometimea  make  him  9ay  A  thing  the  yrety 
oonftmry  to  what  he  said  before.* 

In  AeedltioD  of  1595^  whidi  I  have  exaictly  foUowed»  at  to 
dir  toKt,  there  is  neither  a  translation  of  the  Greek,  Latin,  and 
ftaliaD  passages  quoted  by  Montaigne,  nor  any  diacorery  of  the 
aotkoiitieafiroai  whenoe  those  passages  were  taken ;  two  very  ne» 
bcBsafy  articles,  ho^trevdr,  with  ¥^hieh  Mademotselle  de  GouTnay 
ohoae  to  embellish  the  edition  of  the  Essays  that  she  published  in 
16S5,  and  which  appearing  in  the  subsequent  editions,  with 
M  the  miftakes  of  the  fint,  rendered  this  work  o^  very  little 
vahie. 

1.  To  hefpn  with  the  article  of  quqtatioQs»  MadeaioiseUe  do 

Chmrifeay  assiues  us  very  expressly  in  the  Pieiiic^  to  her  edition  e£ 

the  Essays  in  1635,  that  a  person  unknown  having  thought  fit 

as  seaich  for  and  name  some  of  the  authors  whose  very  worda 

had  beeniepeated  by  Montaigne,  she  eoffeeted  all  the  errors  hr 

had  committed,  and  augmented  the  list  of  those  authois  with 

at  least  hall  tfie  number;  so  that  there  remained  hut  about  fifty 

j^Bssi^es,  of  wfakh  she  coidd  not  ^scovot  the  source.    These 

aie  her  very  words  which  I  cannot  he^  rcfMti^g.    ^  As  to  the 

**  mues  Of  the  authon  qOoted,"  says  she,  <'  Which  vppmr  hero 

^'  (viz.  in  the  edition  of  1635),  or  which  may  appear  also  ill 

^  some  otWer  ianptcsssons,  I  have  revised  and  eoHspared  with 

^  their  teat,  all  those  whkh  hid  been  applied  to  it  by  the  un- 

^  known  pefson,  retained  the  ttue,  rejected  the  fidae,  and  aug- 

^  mented  the  former  by  one  hslf ;  so  that  as  to  this,  there  re^ 

<*  main  only  fifty  void  blanks  to  he  filled  up  with  the  names  in  so 

«  great  a  number,  as  near  twelve  hundred  passages.    It  was^ 

^  however,  a  very  knotty  diifiettky  to  find  the  source  of  so  many 

^  of  the  authorities  of  thb  hook,  the  author  having  sometimel 

^  jumbled  two  or  three  together,  and  at  other  timca  with  iua 

**  usual  artifice  trumped  up  some  other  which  rendered  the 

^  search  the  more  perplexing.    Be  thia  aa  it  will,  I  should  still 

^'  have  been  entangled  in  it,  if  some  persons  of  honour  and 

«  For  iwtaace^  Vol  u  cUp.  IIO»  In  Che  Notenpon  tlie  Use  of  Wioc^ 


PBKPACB  09 

<'  learning  had  nbt  lent  me  a  hand/'  Who  would  not  think^ 
after  what  has  been  said^  that  the  source  of  most  of  Montaigne's 
quotations^  is  faithftilly  pointed  out  by  Mademoiselle  Goumay } 
Yet  true  it  is,  that  her  unknown  friend,  and  those  persons  cf 
honour  and  learning,  who  assisted  her  in  the  discovery  of  the  au- 
thors quoted  by  Montaigne,  furnished  her  with  a  very  imperfect 
list,  abounding  throughout  with  quotations  tiiat  are  false,  or  no- 
thing to  the  puqxise ;  for  very  often  there  appear  the  names  of 
authors,  without  specifying  their  works;  asLivy,  Petrarch,  &c. 
sometimes  Cicero  or  Seneca,  TibuUus  or  Propertius,  are  quoted 
all  at  once  for  one  and  the  same  passage ;  sometimes  two  pas- 
sages, one  of  which  belongs  to  Cicero,  the  other  to  Seneca,  are 
ascribed  to  both^  one  while  to  Seneca,  and  another  while  to  Ci- 
cero; a  passage  of  Lucfetius  is  charged  to  Plautus ;  verses  out 
of  Viigil  to  Lucan,  and  verses  out  of  Lucan  to  Virgil ;  and  some- 
times the  verses  of  some  modern  poet  are  placed  to  the  account 
of  Ennius,  Virgil,  and  Ovid.  Being  obliged  by  all  these  mis- 
takei  to  give  no  credit  to  this  list,  I  have  not  pointed  out  the 
source  of  atiy  passage,  till  after  I  had  seen  it  with  my  own  eyes 
in  the  original  author;  and  by  my  own  searches,  and  those  of 
ttome  learned  men,  whom  I  always  ibutid  my  account  in  consult* 
ingj  I  at  length  discovered  them  all,  save  only  about  ten  or 
twelve  passages  of  very  lillle  importance. 

How  trifling  soever  this  labour  might  seem,  I  took  a  pleasure 
in  it,  because  I  judged  it  very  necessary:  for  as  Montaigne's  book 
is  crowded  with  passages  out  of  the  best  authors,  which  he  often 
diverted  ftom  their  original  sense,  that  he  might  thereby  be  en- 
abled to  express  his  own  thoughts  with  more  beauty  and  spirit> 
the  artfulness  and  agreeableness  of  those  applications  could  only 
be  discovered  by  examining  those  very  passages  at  tlie  fountain- 
head.  But  who  would  trouble  himself  to  go  in  search  idter  two 
or  three  verses  of  a  hemestic  of  Lucretius  or  Catullus,  a  few  pe- 
riods of  Seneca  or  of  Cicero,  a  passage  of  Sallust,  or  of  Titus 
Livy,  unless  it  waa  plainly  pointed  out  to  him  where  he  might  be 
sure  to  find  them* 

2.  A  ftiitliful  translation  of  the  Greek,  Latin,  and  Italian  pas- 
sages quoted  by  Montaigne,  was  altogether  as  necessary.    Made- 


PBTBE  C06TB» 

iilobeUe  de  Gtnirnay  also  undertook  tfab  task ;  but  On  a  close  ex- 
amination of  her  perfixrmance,  I  soon  perceived  that  it  would  be 
easier  for  me  to  make  an  entire  new  translationy  than  to  amend 
that  of  Mademoiselle  Goumay^  besides  that  the  confounding  df 
my  French  with  that  lady's,  would  form  a  very  ridiculous  medley. 
Here  I  must  entreat  our  book-critics  to  remember,  that  Mon- 
taigne having  put  a  sense  quite  new  upon  several  passages,  which 
I  have  rendered  into  French,  I  was  therefim  obliged  to  transplant 
Montaigne's  ideas  into  my  translation^  without  consideritag  whe- 
ther it  agreed  or  not  with  the  sentiments  of  the  authors  whose 
expressions  Montaigne  borrowed. 

^  A  very  particular  advantage  which  this  editiob  vriU  have 
beyond  all  the  former  editions,  is  the  verifieation  of  a  great  num** 
ber  of  sentiments,  turns  of  wit,  and  historical  fects  with  which 
Montaigne  has  adorned  his  book,  without  naming  the  authors 
from  whence  he  had  them.    In  the  first  place,  I  took  notice  of 
some  that  presented  themselves  as  it  were  of  their  own  accord, 
and  afterwards  I  made  it  my  business  to  note  down  as  many  as  I 
could  possibly  discover.    By  degrees  this  examen  produced  a  very 
ample  kind  of  criticism  upon  Montaigne ;  for  by  searching  into 
the  authorities  which  he  had  recourse  to,  I  discovered  many  errors 
that  he  committed,  either  because  he  did  not  rightly  understand 
the  authors  he  copied,  or  for  want  of  due  retention  of  their  opi- 
nions.   And  to  the  end  that  his  exactness  oaight  be  the  more  vi- 
sible, as  well  as  hb  mistakes  (which  in  the  main  are  not  so  nu«- 
merous  nor  so  gross,  but  there  are  quite  as  many,  and  almost  of 
the  same  kind  too,  in  the  most  celebrated  writers,  the  Stlma- 
siuses,  Grotiuses,*  &c.),  I  have  at  the  bottom  of  the  pages^ 
quoted  the  very  words  of  the  authors  in  passages  of  any  impcMrt- 
atice,  without  translating  them,  when  they  only  say  what  Mon- 
taigpe  has  since  said  in  French ;  but  wherever  they  are  contra^ 
^ctory  to  what  Montaigne  has  said,  I  give  an  exact  translation^ 
on  purpose  to  make  such  contradiction  apparent. 
4.  This  editk>n  is  also  augmented  with  a  little  commentary, 

•  See  Mr.  Barbeyrac*!  Preface  of  his  excellent  translation  of  *'  De  Jura 
**  BelU  e(  Pacif/'  p.  29»  83 ;  aad  I  know  not  how  many  moreof  bii  comai^a* 
tarie»  on  that  work. 


PRBFACB  OV  1>W£ft  COST£. 

which  consists  in  a  ^hm  pantphrase  on  those  piassages  of  Iktoir* 
taigne  whose  sense  does  not  oecur  easily  to  the  mind^  and  in  an 
explanation  of  all  antiquated  word^^  which  are  now  grown  ohso^ 
Jete.  Bat  our  Tirtnosos  will  say,  was  it  worth  while  to  spend 
time  cm  a  thing  of  so  little  importance?  I  know  that  all  this 
must  be  reckoned  a  trifle,  by  men  who  have  snch  a  clear  and  welt 
grounded  knowledge  of  books  as  they  have.  But  these  gentlemen 
ought  to  consider,  that  as  they  are  the  more  respected  in  the 
worid,  because  they  are  few  in  number,  a  book  only  calctilated 
tor  them,  would  be  of  no  great  use  to  the  rest  of  mankind. 

I  have  left  out  of  this  edition  what  appears  in  many  others, 
mth  the  title  of  ^^  The  Life  of  Montaigne;''  an  insipid  and  in* 
cmnplets  abstract  of  what  Montaigne  has  said  of  himself  in  hb 
Essays,  and  couched  in  hb  very  words,  but  by  their  being  de- 
tached iiom  the  occasion  which  produced  them,  they  lose  nil 
their  spirit  and  beauty. 

To  supply  this  oaoission  I  have  added,  at  the  end  of  the  third 
volume,  some  letters  hem  Montaigne,  of  which  the  last  is  pre* 
fixed  to  the  Natural  Theology  of  Raymond  Setaonde,  translated 
into  French  by  Mcmta^e :  and  the  others  are  taken  from  a  little 
book  wfaidi  is  very  scarce,  consisting  of  soyn«  posthumous  pieces 
of  Stephen  de  la  Boetia,  which  Montaigne  put  to  the  press;  in 
1571,  about  nme  years  before  the  first  edition  of  his  Essays.  Thb 
book  WIS  fint  showed  to  me  by  the  honourable  Mr.  Stanley,  who 
vott  80  very  obliging  as  to  put  it  into  my  hand^,  with  leave  to 
make  any  extract  of  it  that  miglit  answer  my  puijioae.  Hie  lettef 
wlieiein  BloDtaigne  ttht€9  the  most  retnarfcaUe  particulars  of  the 
aidmess  and  death  of  his  intittiate  iiiend  Stephen  de  h  Boetia,  i$ 
sufficient  to  demonstiate,  that,  when  he  bad  a  mi  Ad  to  take  patos^ 
he  could  write  in  a  style  v^  colierent  and  regolar:  hot  iti  t}i0 
•dier  letters  tbeie  appears  that  free  natural  air  whi^h  is  suitabt^ 
10  Monta^'s  common  way  of  writing,  and  to  his  genkis« 

To  conclude,  it  wiH  tiot  he  improper,  in  njy  opinion,  to  lake 
notice  that  Montaigne  was  bom  in  1533,  that  he  fived  in  the 
reigns  of  Francb  I.  Henry  U.  Fiancb  II.  Charles  IX.  Henry  III. 
and  Henry  IV.  and  thM  he  died  in  1692,  on  the  13th  of  Sept 
tembcr,  aged  59  years,  6  months,  and  11  days. 


VINDICATION 

OF 

MONTAIGNE'S    ESSAYS- 


X  HESE  Essays,  or  rather  Miscellanies,  because 
they  are  on  various  subjects,  though  they  have  not 
so  much  order  and  connection  as  others,  yet  people 
of  all  ranks  extol  them  above  all  others  whatsoever. 
In  many  other  Miscellanies,  both  ancient  and  mo- 
dem, they  complain  of  an  unnecessary  heap  of  quo- 
tations, whereas  in  this  they  are  delighted  to  find 
authorities  quite  pertinent  to  the  purpose,  intermixed 
with  the  author's  own  thoughts ;  which  being  bold 
and  extraordinary,  are  very  effectual  to  cure  men  of 
their  weakness  and  vanity,  and  induce  them  to  a 
lawful  pursuit  of  virtue  and  felicity.  But  because 
every  body  is  not  of  this  opinion,  we  will  take  notice 
here  of  what  is  said  for  and  against  these  Essays ;  and 
this  is  the  moi'e  necessary,  because  one  has  frequent 
occasions  to  talk  of  this  authbr,  his  book  being  un^ 
versally  read,  and  having  been  often  quoted,  and 
referred  to  by  the  writers  of  the  Spectator,  and 
others  of  the  first  class. 

The  enemies  of  Montaigne  tell  us,  that  his  book 
is  so  &r  from  inspiring  his  readers  with  the  love  of 
virtue,  that,  on  the  contrary,  the  free  and  licentious 

VOL.  u  b 


A  VINDICATION  OP 

words  in  some  of  his  discourses  teach  them  some 
vices  of  which  thej  were  ignorant,  or  else  are  the 
occasion  that  they  take  a  pleasure  in  speaking  of 
them,  if  not  in  committing  them :  that  his  discourses 
upon  several  effects  of  nature  are  rather  fit  to  divert 
men's  thoughts  from  the  true  religion,  than  to  con- 
vince them  of  it,  and  are  altogether  unbecoming  a 
christian  philosopher :  that  his  propositions  and  as- 
sertions are,  for  the  most  part,  very  dangerous  for 
several  persons,  who  either,  want  learning,  or  have 
too  great  a  bias  for  libertinism :  that,  besides  an  in- 
different knowledge  of  practical  morals,  and  of  his- 
tory, which  Montaigne  had  acquired  in  reading 
Seneca  and  Plutarch,  having  conversed  with  few 
other  books,  as  he  owns  himself,  he  had  hardly  a 
tincture  of  other  sciences  and  arts,  even  not  of  the 
theory  of  moral  philosophy :  that  he  was  as  ignorant 
in  other  parts  of  philosophy,  as  physics,  metaphysics, 
aCnd  logic :  that  he  understood  very  little  of  what  we 
call  humanity,  or  the  Belles  Lettres :  that  he  was  a 
very  ill  grammarian,  and  a  bad  rhetorician :  and  that, 
as  he  talks  positively,  and  boldly,  Scaliger  used  to 
style  him  ^^  a  bold  ignorant"  These  angry  gentle- 
men likewise  pretend,  that  if  his  quotations  from 
ancient  authors,  and  the  little  stories  he  tells  us 
about  his  own  temper  and  inclinations  were  taken 
out  of  his  book,  the  rest  would  amount  to  little  or 
notliing. 

Having  thus  impartially  related  the  most  material 
ol]9ections  urged  against  Montaigne,  we  proceed  now 
to  mention  what  is  said  in  his  vindication.  And  we 
might  here,  in  the  first  place,  make  use  of  the  long 


JKOMTAIOMeSi  BSSAn. 

preftce  Mademoiselle  de  Goumay  has  prefixed  to  the 
French  folio  edition  of  his  Essays,  1635,  wherein 
the  does  not  only  give  a  full  answer  to  all  objections 
against  Montaigne,  but  also  talks  of  him  as  of  a  man 
whose  works  have  revived  truth  in  his  age,  and  which, 
therefore  she  calls  ^^  the  quintessence  of  philosophy, 
'*  the  hellebore  of  man's  folly,  the  setter  at  liberty 
^^  of  the  understanding,  and  the  judicial  throne  of 
«<  reason.''    But  we  do  not  think  fit  to  insist  upon 
her  evidence ;  for,  notwithstanding  the  solid  argu- 
ments her  opinion  is  grounded  upon,  she  may  be 
suspected  to  be  blindfolded  with  the  passionate  love 
she  had  for  her  adopted  father:   and  besides,  we 
Jbave  so  many  great  men  to  produce  in  favour  of 
Montaigne^  that  we  may,  without  any  prejudice  to 
his  cause,  wave  the  evidence  of  that  lady.    Tliese 
will  tell  you,  that  if  he  has  handled  any  matters  with 
an  uncommon  freedom,  it  is  owing  to  his  generous 
temper,  which  abhorred  any  base  compliance ;  and, 
as  to  his  love  for  virtue,  and  his  religion,  they  appeal 
to  his  book  itself,  wherein  this  will  appear  evident, 
if  the  passages,  alleged  to  prove  the  contrary,  are 
examined  without  partialit)r,  and  not  separately  by 
themselves ;  but  according  to  the  connection  they 
have  with  what  precedes  or  follows* 

Stephen  Pasquier,  that  sincere  writer,  who  deals 
more  fairly  with  Montaigne  than  any  of  his  op- 
posers,  for  he  does  not  conceal  his  fiiults,  nor  pass 
by  what  may  be  said  to  extenuate  or  excuse  them. 
**  Montaigne,"  says  he,  ^^  in  one  of  his  letters,  has 
**  several  chapters,  whereof  the  body  is  no  ways 
^^  answerable  to  the  head;  witness  the  following; 

b2 


A  rvmitATlOV  OF 

«<  The  History  of  Spurina}  Of  the  Resemblance  of 
"  Children  to  their  Parents;  Of  the  Verses  of 
«  VirgU;  Of  Coaches ;  Of  Lame  People;  Of  Va- 
*^  nity,  and  Physiognomy.  In  these  the  author  in- 
^<  coherently  rambles  from  one  subject  to  another, 
^^  i;?ithout  any  order  or  connection.  But  after  all, 
^<  we  must  take  of  Montaigne  what  is  good,  and  not 
^^  stick  to  the  titles  of  his  chapters,  but  look  into 
**  his  discourses ;  for  possibly  he  designed  to  laugh  at 
^^  himself,  at  others,  and  at  human  capacity,  by  thus 
**  slighting  the  rules  and  servile  laws  of  authors,'^ 

I  shall  add  on  this  point,  that  though  several  of 
his  discourses  do  contain  quite  different  things  from 
what  is  promised  in  the  titles,  as  Pasquier  has  ob* 
served,  yet  it  does  not  always  happen  so ;  and  when 
he  has  done  it,  methinks,  it  is  rather  through  af- 
fectation than  inadvertency,  to  show  that  he  did  not 
intend  to  make  a  regular  work.  This  likewise  ap- 
pears by  the  odd,  or  rather  fantastical  medley  of  his 
discourses,  wherein  ijfirom  one  subject  he  makes  long 
digressions  upon  several  others.  No  doubt,  but  he 
thought  that  he  might  take  the  same  liberty  in  his 
meditations,  as  is  assumed  in  common  conversations, 
in  which,  though  there  be  but  two  or  three  inter- 
locutors, it  is  observed  that  there  is  such  a  variety  . 
in  their  discourses,  that  if  they  were  set  down  in 
writing,  it  would  appear  that  by  digressions  they  are 
run  away  from  their  first  subject,  and  that  the  last  • 
part  of  their  conversation  is  very  little  consistent 
with  the  first.  This  I  verily  believe  was  his  true  in- 
tention, that  he  might  present  the  world  with  a  free 
and  original  work ;  for  none  of  his  adversaries  will  h% 
9 


MON^TAIGKE's  E88ATS. 

able  to  convince  the  world,  that  this  proceeded  £rom 
want  of  judgment  in  a  man  of  such  parts  as  they 
are  obliged  to  own  in  Montaigne. 

He  aimed  also,  sometimes,  to  conceal  his  design 
hj  his  titles ;  as  for  instance,  in  his  third  book,  when 
having  spent  ahnost  a  whole  chapter  against  phy^ 
sicians,  it  is  most  likely  that  his  view  was  to  conceal 
his  real  intentions  by  entitling  the  same,  *^  Of  the 
*«  Resemblance  of  Children  to  their  Parents."  For 
this  gave  him  an  opportunity  to  tell  us,  that  he  was 
afflicted  with  the  gravel  as  his  father  was,  and  to  dis- 
course of  the  cure  of  several  distempers,  and  at  the 
same  time  of  the  uncertainty  of  physic,  or  rather  of 
the  ignorance  of  physicians;  from  whence  I  con- 
clude that,  in  this  whole  chapter,  and  several  others, 
there  is  rather  a  refined  art,  than  ignorance. 

It  is  somewhat  surprising  that  Montaigne  should 
be  blamed  for  quoting  ancient  writers,  when  his 
quotations  are  made  purely  to  confirm  or  illustrate 
what  he  says,  seeing  Plutarch  and  several  other  ex- 
cellent authors  have  taken  the  same  liberty  ;  and  if 
it  be  objected,  that  the  quotations  in  Plutarch  are 
taken  from  Greek  authors,  and  consequently  are  in 
the  same  language  as  his,  whereas  Montaigne  has 
stufied  his  French  book  with  Greek,  Latin,  and 
Italian  verses ;  I  answer,  that  this  is  trifling ;  for  if 
Montaigne  found  liothing  in  his  own  language 
worthy  of  being  cited,  or  dse  if  he  thought  that 
ancient  or  foreign  writers  had  better  treated  the 
matter  he  speaks  of,  pray  by  what  law  is  he  forbidden 
to  make  use  of  their  authority  ?  I  own  that,  in  some 
places,  he  has  translated  passages  of  ancient  authors 


A  VINDICATION  OP 

into  French,  and  so  dexterously  incorporated  .them 
into  his  work,  that  he  has  in  a  manner  made  them  his 
own ;  but  where  is  the  great  crime  in  this,  especially 
seeing  he  has  a  world  of  thoughts  of  his  own,  which 
are  more  sublime  and  excellent  than  what  he  has 
alleged  from  others  ? 

Balzac,  in  his  XIX.  Entretien,  reflects  upon  his  dic- 
tion, though  at  the  same  time  he  excuses  it.  ^^  He 
**  lived,'*  says  he,  "  in  the  reign  of  the  family  a£ 
*^  Valois,  and  was  a  Gascon  by  birth,  and  therefore 
^  it  is  impossible  but  his  language  must  have  some- 
^'  thing  of  the  vice  common  to  his  age  and  country. 
^^  However,  we  must  own  that  his  was  an  eloqu^it 
^^  soul,  that  he  expressed  his  thoughts  in  nervous^ 
^^  masculine    expressions,    and  that  .his  style  had 
"  some  beauties  above,  what  we  could    have  ex- 
**  pected  from  the  age  he  lived  in.    I  will  say  no 
^^  more  on  this  head  i  and  I  know  that  it  would  be 
**  a  sort  of  a  miracle,  that  a  person  could  write  or 
•*  speak  French  politely,  in  the  barbarism  of  Quercy 
**  and  Perigord,    where   his  wife,    relations,   and 
^^  friends,  are  so  many  enemies  to  the  purity  of  the 
"  French  tongue.    The  court  style  then  was  like- 
^  wise  as  corrupt  as  that  of  the  country,  there  be- 
*^  ing,  at  that  time,  no  settled  rules  for  our  Ian- 
"  guage :  and  those  fitults,  which  are  more  ancient 
^*  than  the  laws  themselves,  must  be  deetdte^  innocent 
**  I  conclude,'*  says  he  in  another  place,  "  that  I 
"  have  a  great  veneration  for  him,  and  that,  in  my 
*^  opinion,  he  is  comparable  to  those  ancients  whom 
**  we  call  Maximos  ingenioj  arte  rudcs,  ^c.*'     And, 
in  another,  he  compares  him  tp  a  w^andering  guide 


MONtAIGITB's  ESSATS. 

who  brings  his  travellers  to  more  agreeable  tracks 
than  he  promised. 

What  Balzac  says,  in  relation  to  the  court  of 
France  in  the  days  of  Montaigne,  is  true .  enough^ 
and  very  much  to  the  purpose }  but  observe  here  the 
vanity  and  malice  of  that  hypercritic  in  reflecting 
upon  Montaigne^s  country ;  as  if  it  were  impossibly 
that  any  body  bom  in  Perigord  or  Quercy  should 
write  French  politely.  I  own  Balzac  has  written 
more  elegantly  than  Montaigne,  and  that  the  French 
tongue  is  much  indebted  to  him ;  but  he  whose  ex- 
cellency consisted  chiefly  in  the  connection  or  dis* 
position  of  words,  must  not,  for  all  that,  pretend  to 
set  up  for  a  judge  of  the  thoughts  of  MontaigQe,  as 
he  rashly  ventured  upon  in  his  XVIII,  and  XIX« 
Entretiens. 

It  is  true,  Montaigne  has  some  provincial  expres* 
ttons,  but  they  are  few ;  and  it  is  to  be  observed, 
that  several  words  of  his,  which  were  at  first  ex- 
cepted against,  have  been  since  adopted  by  the  best 
writers,  it  being  the  privilege  of  great  authors,  to 
introduce  new  words.  The  French  word  er^mi 
(merry)  has  not  been  always  in  use,  though  it  is  now 
in  the  mouths  of  all  the  learned  and  polite  people, 
and  Montaigne  was  the  first  author  that  I  know  o^ 
who  made  use  of  it ;  and  so  they  are  obliged  to  him 
for  this  word,  which  does  not  only  signify  a  merry 
man,  but  one  who  carries  the  very  ^ects  of  mirth 
in  his  fiice,  and  chiefly  upon  his  cheek  (jaue). 

They  who  tell  us  that  Scaliger  used  to  call  him  a 
bold  ignorant,  do  certainly  a  greater  injury  to  Scali# 
ger  than  to  Montaigne }  for  the  reputation  of  the 


A  VmDICATIOK  OF 

former,  great  as  it  is,  will  never  so  fkr  bias  mankind, 
as  to  make  them  believe,  that  the  author  of  a  bqok, 
iidierein  there  is  so  much  learning,  should  be  an 
ignorant.  Scallger  was  a  better  judge  both  of  men 
and  books,  and  as  this  is  not  to  be  found  in  anj  one 
of  his  works,  I  think  one  may  venture  to  say,  that 
this  calumny  was  contrived  by  some  of  Montaigne's 
envious  enemies,  who,  not  having  capacity  enough  to 
encounter  him,  made  use  of  this  artifice  to  run  down 
his  merit  with  that  great  name. 

Monsieur  de  Plassac,  a  great  admirer  of  Mon* 
taigne,  converted  his,  chapter  of  the  Vanity  ef 
Words  into  modem  French ;  but,  as  he  owns  it  him- 
self, it  was  no  more  Montaigne's  whose  similies  and 
proverbial  expressions  have  greater  energy,  than  the 
nice  politeness  of  the  modern  French  language; 
and,  besides,  Montaigne^s  discourse  is  every  where 
iiill  of  sentences  and  solid  reason,  which  do  not 
always  admit  that  smooth  but  empty  way  of  writing, 
soi  much  in  vogue  in  France. 

As  for  the  rest,  there  is  hardly  any  human  book 
extant,  so  fit  as  this  to  teach  men  what  they  are,  and 
lead  them  insensibly  to  a  reasonable  observation  of  the 
most  secret  springs  of  their  actions ;  and,  as  cardi* 
nal  Perron  said,  it  ought  to  be  the  manual  of  all 
gentlemen,  especially  as  his  uncommon  way  of  teach- 
ing, wins  people  to  the  practice  of  virtue,  as  much 
as  other  books  fright  them  from  it,  by  being  dogma- 
tical  and  imperious. 

Thus  we  have  answered  all  the. material  objections 
made  against  Montaigne  ;  for  I  think  the  other  trifles 
which  are  objected  against  him,  do  not  deserve  to  be 


M0NTAI6N£'S  ES8ATS. 

taken  notice  of;  and  I  wcmder  that  the  author  of  the 
Search  after  Truth,  should  spend  his  time  upon  them, 
in  a  manner  so  unbecoming  his  character.     He  tells 
us^  after  Balzac  and  some  others,  that  Montaigne's 
vanity  and  pride  were  not  suitable  to  an  author  and 
philosopher ;  that  it  was  ridiculous  and  needless  for 
him  to  keep  a  pag6,  who  had  hardly  6000  livres  a 
year,  and  more  ridiculous  still  to  have  so  often  men- 
tioned it  in  his  writings  :  but  I  may  answer,  that  it 
was  very  common  in  his  time  for  gentlemen  of  ho* 
nourable  extraction  to  keep  a  page^  in  order  to  de- 
note their  quality,  though  their  estate  could  hardly^ 
afford  them  to  keep   a  fdotman ;    and  that  the 
6000  livres  a  year  were  mOre  then,  than  20000  now* 
a-days.    It  was  likewise  very  much  unbecoming  the 
gravity  of  our  fitmous  Searcher  after  Truth,  to  rail  at 
Montaigne  because  he  kept  a  clerk  when  he  was 
counsellor  in   the  parliament   of  Bourdeaux :   for 
Montaigne  having  exercised  that  noble  employment 
but  for  a  short  time,  in  his  youth,  he  had  no  occa* 
sion  to  mention  it ;    and  who  will  beUeve  that  he 
concealed  it  out  of  vanity :  he  who,  in  the  opinion 
of  Malebranche  himself,  talks^  of  his  own  imperfec- 
tions and  vices  with  too  great  a  freedom  ?  It  is  like- 
wise very  ungenerous  and  ungentleman-like  to  take 
notice,  that  he  did  not  very  well  succeed  in  his  may- 
oralty of  Bourdeaux ;  for  the  times  he  lived  in  were 
very  troublesome,  and  supposing  he  committed  some 
error,  which  they  say  without  any  proof,  what  is 
that  to  the  merit  of  his  book  ?   Balzac  introduces  a 
gentleman  speaking  thus  to  an  admirer  of  Mon- 
taigne.   **  You  may  prize  your  author,,  if  you  will. 


A  VIKDICATION  OF 

^^  more  than  our  Cicero,  but  I  cannot  fancy  that  a 
^^  man,  who  governed  all  the  worldi,  was  not  at  least 
<c  equal  to  a  person  who  did  not  know  how  to  govern 
^^  Bourdeaux*'*  This  may  very  well  pass  for  a  jest  $ 
but  is  it  a  rational  way  of  confuting  an  audior,  to 
have  recourse  to  personal  reflectioiu,  or  to  some  in- 
cidents relating  to  his  private  person  or  quality? 
This  is  so  mean,  that  I  cannot  fimcy  Balzac  could 
be  guilty  of  it }  and  I  wholly  impute  it  to  those  who 
published,  af);er  his  death,  some  loose  discourses  on 
several  subjects,  which  they  have  entitled  his  £n- 
tretiens. 

Notwithstanding  these  objections,  Montaigne  al- 
ways had  and  is  like  to  have  admirers,  as  long  as 
sense  and  reason  have  any  credit  in  the  world.  Jus- 
tus Lipsius  calls  him  the  French  Thales,  and  Me- 
zeray  the  christian  Seneca ;  and  the  incomparable 
Thuanus  made  an  eulogy  on  him,  which  being  veiy 
short,  I  shall  transcribe  it  here. 

^^  Michael  de  Montaigne,  chevalier,  was  bom  at 
^^  Perigord,  a  seat  which  had  the  name  of  his  family. 
^^  He  was  made  counsellor  in  the  parliament  of 
^^  Bourdeaux  with  Stephen  de  la  Boetia,  with  whom 
^^  he  contracted  so  great  a  friendship,  that  that  dear 
<^  friend*  of  his  was,  even  afler  his  death,  the  ob- 
'^  ject  of  his  respect  and  veneration.  Montaigne 
^^  was  extraordinary  free  and  sincere,  as  posterity 
*^  will  see  by  his  Essays  ;  for  so  he  has  entitled  that 
^^  immortal  monument  of  his  genius« 

*  Montaigne  therefore  always  called  him  his  brother,  as  he  called 
Mademoiselle  de  Gournay,  his  daughter,  upon  the  same  principle* 
Vide  the  note,  p.  218,  of  this  toI. 


MONTAIONB's  £S8ATS# . 

^  While  he  was  at  Venice,  he  was  elected  mayor 
**  of  Bourdeaux,  which  place  was  bestowed  onty 
*'  upon  persons  of  the  first  quality,  and  even  the  go* 
^^  vemors  of  the  province  thought  it  was  an  honour 
^^  for  them.  The  jtnareschal  de  Matignon,  who 
*^  conunanded  the  king's  forces  in  that  province 
^  during  the  troubles,  of  the  state,  had  such  an 
^  esteem  for  him,  that  he  communicated  the  most 
^<  important  affiurs  to  him,  and  admitted  him.  into 
^^  his  council.  As  I  had  a  correspondence  with  him 
'^  while  I  was  in  his  country,  and  sinde  at  court, 
^^  the  conformity  of  our  studies  and  inclinations 
^^  united  us  most  intimately.  He  died  at  Montaigne 
^^  in  the  60th  year  of  his  age.'* 

This  testimony  of  Thuanus  is  sufficient  to  justify 
the  memory  of  our  author,  for  nobody  will  believe- 
that  a  man  of  that  integrity,  would  have  been  so  great 
a  fiiend  with  so  vicious  a  man,  as  Montaigne  has  been 
represented  by  some  who  envied  him.  I  shall  there- 
fore conclude  this  discourse  with  a  very  remarkable 
circumstance,  mentioned  by  Thuanus  in  his  own  lifo; 
lib.  iii.  which  shows  that  Montaigne  was  beloved  by 
the  greatest  princes  in  his  time,  and  honoured  with 
their  confidence.  ^^  While  the  states  of  .the  king- 
^  dom,"  says  he,  "were  sitting  at  Blois,  Mon- 
"  taigne  and  I  were  discoursing  of  the  division  be- 
"  tween  the  king  of  Navarre,  and  the  duke  of 
*^  Guise ;  whereupon  he  told  me,  that  he  knew  the 
^  most  secret  thoughts  of  both  those  princes,  as 
•*  having  been  employed  to  compose  their  differ- 
"  ences ;  and  that  he  was  persuaded,  that  neither 
"  of  them  was  of  the  religion  he  professed.    That 


A  VIKmCATIOM  OF  MONTAIOKB's  ESSAYS. 

^  the  king  of  Navarre  would  have  willingly  em- 
^^  braced  the  religion  of  his  predecessors,  if  he  had 
^  not  feared  that  his  party .  would  abandon  him ; 
^  and  that  the  duke  of  Guise  would  have  declared 
<^  himself  for  the  confession  of  Augsburg,  which  the 
^^  cardinal  of  Lorrain  his  uncle  had  *  inspired  him 
^^  with,  if  he  could  have  done  it,  without  any  pre- 
•*  judice  to  his  interests/' 

I  thought  this  circumstance  was  not  unworthy  of 
being  placed  here ;  but  i  must  beg  the  reader's  par- 
don for  having  detained  him  so  long,  and  that  he 
would  attribute  it  to  the  respect  I  have  for  the  me- 
mory of  so  excellent  a  man  as  Montaigne,  who 
meets  with  a  much  more  &vourable  entertainment 
in  Enjgland,  than  in  his  native  country ;  but  it  must 
be  observed,  that  an  author  who  writes  freely  of  ev^ 
thing,  is  not  suitable  to  the  temper  of  a  servile  na- 
tion, that  has  lost  all  sense  of  liberty. 

Monsieur  La  Bruyere,  in  his  celebrated  book  of  the 
**  .Characters  and  Manners  of  the  Age,*'  gives  ano- 
ther reason  why  some  people  condemn  Montaignew 
**  Two  writers,*'  says  he  (meaning  La  Mothe  le 
Vayer,  and  Malebranche),  "  have  condemned  Mon 
<^  taigne :  I  know  that  author  may  be  justly  blamed 
**  in  some  things,  but  neither  of  them  will  allow  him 
<'  to  have  any  thing  valuable.  One  of  them  thinks 
^^  too  little  to  taste  such  an  author  who  thinks  a 
^^  great  deal ;  and  the  other  thinks  too  delicately 
**  to  be  pleased  with  what  is  natural.  This,  I  be- 
**  lieve,"  says  he,  ^*  is  the  general  character  of 
**  Montaigne's  enemies." 


MONTAIGNES  PREFACE 


TO 


THE   READER. 


JL  his.  Reader,  is  a  book  altogether  without  guile. 
It  tells  thee  at  the  entrance  of  it,  that  I  had  no 
view  in  publishing  it,  but  what  was  domestic  and 
private.  I  have  had  no  regard  in  it,  either  to  thy 
service,  or  my  own  glory:  my  abilities  are  not 
equal  to  the  execution  of  such  a  design.  I  have 
devoted  it  to  the  particular  benefit  of  my  kindred  and 
friends,  to  the  end,  that  when  they  have  lost  me, 
which  they  will  do  very  soon,  they  may  there  re- 
trace some  of  my  qualities  and  humours,  and  con- 
sequently that  their  remembrance  of  me  may  be 
preserved  more  lively  and  entire.  Had  I  been  to 
court  the  favour  of  the  public,  I  should  have 
adorned  myself  with  borrowed  beauties :  but  I  am 
desirous  to  appear  in  my  plain,  natural,  ordinary 
dress,  without  study  and  artifice ;  for  it  is  my  own 
dear  self  that  I  paint.  My  faults  will  appear  here 
to  the  life,  together  with  my  imperfections,  and  my 
native  form,  as  far  as  a  respect  to  the  public  has 
permitted  me.  And  if  I  had  dwelt  in  those  nations 
which  are  said  to  live  still  undec  the  sweet  liberty 


mom'taigke's  preface. 

of  the  primitive  laws  of  nature,  I  assure  thee,  I 
should  gladly  have  drawn  my  own  Portrait  at  fuQ 
length,  and  quite  naked.  Thus,  Reader,  I  am  my- 
self the  subject  of  my  own  book ;  a  subject  too  vain 
and  frivolous  to  take  up  even  thy  spare  time. 

Adieu  therefore. 

MmrtaiffiMv 
June  18,  im. 


CONTENTS. 


Ck»p;  Face 

I.  That  Men  arrive  at  the  same  End  by  different  Means.      1 

II.  Of  Sorrow <6 

IIL  That  our  Affections  are  extended  beyond  our  Ex* 

istence ,     U 

IV.  How  the  Soul  discharges  its  Passions  upon  false  Ob- 
jects, when  the  true  are  wanting 21 

V.  Whether  the  Governor  of  a  Place  besieged  ought 

himself  to  go  out  to  parley • 2i 

VI.  The  Time  of  Parieys dangerous 28 

VII.  That  our  Actions  are  to  be  judged  by  the  Intention. .     SI 

\VIII.  Of  Idleness S$ 

MIX.  Of  Liars... ,,., 34 

'  X.  Of  Readiness  or  Slowness  in  Speech 41 

XI.  Of  Prognostications. 44 

XII.  Of  Constancy. SO 

XUh  Of  the  Ceremony  at  the  Interview  of  Princes 53 

XIV.  That  the  obstinate  Defence  of  a  Place,  not  in  Reason 

to  be  defended,  deserves  to  be  punished 55 

\  XV.  Of  the  Punishment  of  Cowardice.... 56 

VXVI.  A  Passage  of  some  Ambassadors. 58 

XVII.  Of  Fear 68 

XVIII.  That  we  are  not  to  judg^  of  Man's  Happiness  before 

his  Death.. ^ 66 

^  XIX.  That  he  who  studies  Philosophy,  learns  to  die 70  - 

XX.  Of  the  Power  of  Imagination 93 

XXI.  One  Man*a  Profit  is  another's  Loss 106 

XXII.  Of  Custom,  and  the  Difficulty  of  changing  a  Law 

once  reaeived., 109 

XXm.  Difierent  Events  from  the  same  Counsel 132 

XXIV.  Of  Pedantry..... 144 

\fXXV.  Of  the  Education  of  Children 161 

XXVL  The  Folly  of  making  our  Capacity  a  Standard  for  the 

measure  of  Truth  and  Error  ...1 209 

XXVIL  Of  Friendship 215 


V 


CONTENTS. 

Chap.  BiS^ 

XXVIII.  A  Letter  to  Madam  de  Grammonf,  Countess  of 

Guissen,  with  twenty-nine  Sonnets 233 

XXIX.  Of  Moderation 234* 

y     XXX.  Of  Cannibals 2*2 

VXXXI.  That  a  Man  must  not  be  too  has^  in  judging  of 

the  Divine  Ordinances 260 

XXXII.  To  avoid  Pleasures,  even  at  the  Expense  of  Life. .   263 

XXXIIL  Fortune  often  met  with  in  the  Train  of  Reason 265 

XXXIV.  Of  one  Defect  in  our  Government 269 

XXXV.  Of  the  Custom  of  wearing  Clothes.. 271 

XXXVI.  OrCato  the  Younger. 276 

XXXVII.  T^  we  laugh  mid  cry  for  the  same  Thing 281       , 

XXXVHL  Of  Solitude 285  -7^^ 

XXXIX.  An  Observation  concerning  Cicero,  &c 300 

V       XL.  That  the  Relish  of  Good  and  Evil  depends,  in  a 
^  ')      *'^  greatmeasure,upontheOpinion  we  have  of  either.  SOB 

XLL  One  Man's  Honour  not  to  be  communicated  to 

another S35 

XLII.  Of  the  Inequality  amongst  us. SS9 

XLIII.  Of  Sumptuary  Laws. 853 

XLIV.  Of  Sleep 356 

XLV.  Of  the  Battle  of  Dreux 359 

XLVL  Of  Names* 361 

XLVIL  Of  the  Uncertainty  of  our  Judgment 368 

XLVIIL  Of  the  War-horses  called  Destriers. 376 

s   XLIX.  Of  Ancient  CiiStoms 388 

^^       L.  Of  Democritus  and  Heraclitus 395 

LL  Of  the  Vanity  of  Words 399 

LIL  Of  the  Parsimony  of  the  Ancients 403 

LIU.  Of  the  Saying  of  Caesar ! 4M 

Nr  fi^LIV.  Of  Vain  Subtleties 406  ^ 

LV.  Of  Smells 4rlO 

LVL  Of  Prayers 413 

LVIL  Of  Age 42S 

LVIII.  Of  the  Inconstancy  of  our  Actions 429 

LIX.  Of  Drunkenness : 438 

LX.  Of  the  Custom  of  the  Isle  of  Cea 452 

LXI.  To-morrow  is  a  New  Day 472 

\LXn.  Of  Conscience 475  - 

LXIIL  Habit  makes  Things  femiliar  to  us 481 

LXIV.  Of  Honorary  Rewards 495 

LXV.  Of  the  Affection  of  Parents  to  their  Children 499 

LXVL  Of  the  Armour  of  the  Parthians 526 


ESSAYS 


QF 


MICHAEL  SEIGNEUR  DE  MONTAIGNE. 


CHAPTER  I. 


That  Men  arrive  at  the  same  End  by  different  Means*, 

When  we  find,  that  persons  whom  we  have  of- p**"©"* of- 
fended have  revenge  in  their  own  hands,  and  that  ^MUficJr* 
we  absolutely  lie  at  their  mercy,  the  most  usual  way  *>y  s»*>mi«- 
of  appeasing  their  indignation,  is  to  move  them  to"** ' 
pity  by  submission:   yet  bravery,  constancy,   and 
resolution,  which  are  qualities  the  very  reverse,  have 
sometimes  produced  the  same  effect. 

Edward  the  Black  Prince  of  Wales,*  (the  same  And  some- 
who  so  long  governed  our  province  of  Guienne)  ^^%^^tn^ 
personage  remarkably  great  both  by  his  rank  and  ▼««"»««. 
fortune,  having  been  highly  incensed  by  the  Limo- 
sins,  and  taken  their  city  by  storm,  was  not  to  be 
restrained  firom  prosecuting  his  revenge,  by  the  cries 
of  the  people,  and  of  the  women  and  children  aban- 
doned  to  slaughter,    and   calling  for  tnercy,    till, 
penetrating  farther  into  the  town,  Ate  took  notice 
of  three  Frepch  gentlemen,t   who,  with  incredible 

*  Son  to  Edward  III.  king  of  England,  sftid  father  of  the  unfor- 
tunate Richard  II.  • 

f  Froissart  says,  they  were  John  de  Villemur,  Hugh  de  la 
Roche,  and  Roger  de  Beaufort,  son  to  the  count  de  Beaufort,  officers 
of  the  city ;  who,  when  they  saw  the  trouble  and  plague  that  waa 

VOL.  I.  B 


2  THE  SAME  E^D  GAiWSD 

bravery,  stood  it  out  alone  against  his  victoriotrs 
army.  His  admiration  of  such  transcendent  valour 
soon  blunted  the  edge  of  liis  fiiryj  so  that  after 
having  given  quarter  to  these  three  gentlemen,  he 
extended  his  clemency  to  all  the  surviving  inhabi* 
tants  of  the  city.     Scariderbeg,  prince  of  Epirus^ 

Pursuing  one  of  his  soldiers,  with  a  resolution  to 
in  him;  the  soldier,  after  having  in  vain  tried,  by 
all  the  humility  and  supplication  possible,  to  appedse 
him,  resolved  to  face  about,  and  expect  him  sword 
in  hand;  which  behaviour  gave  a  sudden  check  to 
his  commander's  fiiry,  who,  seeing  him  assume  so 
gallant  a  resolution,   admitted  him  to  favour.     An 
example,  however,   liable  to  another  construction, 
by  such  as  never  heard  of  the  prodigious  strength 
and  valour  of  that  prince. 
Eomiij         The  emperor  Conrad  III-  having  besieged  Guelph  * 
inpprwed,  cluke  of  Bavaria,  would  not  be  prevailed  upon,  what' 
banished,   ever  mean  and  unmanly  concessions  were  ofrered  to 
*y  p»ty.     him,  to  condescend  to  more  favourable  terms,  than 
that  the  women,  who  were  besieged  with  the  duke, 
might  go  out,  without  violation  of  their  honour,  on 
foot,  and  with  so  much  only  as  they  could  carry. 
True  con.  Such  was  the  hcroism  of  the  sex,  that  they  carried 
jiig^  lofe.  ^^^  ^gjj.  husbands  and  children,  and  even  the  duke 
himself,   upon  their  shoulders*     At  this  sight  the 
emperor  was  so  charmed  with  their  ingenuity,  as  well 
as  courage,  that  he  wept  for  joy,  quite  extinguished 
the  bitterness  of  the  mortal  hatred  he  had  conceived 
against  the  duke ;  and  from  that  time  forward  he 
treated  him  and  his  with  fiiendship. 

Both  these  ways  could  easily  bias  me;  for  I  am 
wonderfiilly  compassionate,  and  tender-hearted:  yet, 

Gome  upon  themselves  and  their  people,  said,  **  We  shall  all  die» 
•*  if  we  do  not  defend  ourselves ;  but  we  will  sell  our  lives  dear, 
*<  as  all  gentlemen  ought  to  do."  And  these  three  Frendimen 
gave  several  instances  ef  their  valour.  The  princey  comme  that 
way  in  his  chariot,' looked  upon  them  with  admiration,  and  relented 
Tery  much  at  the  sight  of  them.  Ftoissart,  vol.  i.  c.  S939>  p.  S6& 
*  la  1140,  in  Winsberg,  a  town  of  Upper  Bavaria. 


fiY  DIFFERENT  MCAHS.  9 

I  fimcy,  I  should  be  sooner  moved  by  pity^  than  by 
esteem.  Nevertheless,  compassion  is  reputed  a  vice  Pity  r».  . 
among  the  Stoics,  who  consent  that  we  relieve  the  Jf^e^ytta 
afflicted,  but  not  that  we  should  be  so  affected  with^^'^c^ 
their  sufferings,  as  to  sympathize  with  them.  I 
thought  these  examples  the  more  pertinent,  because 
therein  we  observe,  those  souls  assaulted  and  tried 
by  these  two  different  means,  resist  the  one  without 
being  shocked,  and  yet  bend  under  the  other.  It 
may  be  said,  that  to  suffer  the  heart  to  be  totally  sub* 
dued  by  compassion,  is  the  effect  of  an  easy,  debon- 
naire,  effeminate  disposition;  whence  it  comes  to 
pass,  that  the  weak  reason  of  women,  children,  and 
the  vulgar,  is  the  most  subject  to  it :  but  for  a  man  to 
despise  sighs  and  tears,  and  surrender  his  resentment 
purely  to  a  veneration  for  the  sacred  image  of  virtue, 
this  must  be  owing  to  a  great  and  inflexible  spirit, 
which  loves  and  honours  courage,  that  is  manly  and 
obstinate. 

Yet  astonishment  and  admiration  may  in  less  gene« 
rous  minds  produce  a  like  effect.    Witness  the  people  The  Tb^ 
of  Thebes,  who  having  put  two  of  their  generals  upon  ^^^^ 
trial  for  their  lives,  because  they  had  continued  intherefo-^ 
arms  beyond  the  prescribed  terms  of  their  commis-  of*Vp'J|[If, 
sion,   very  hardly  acquitted  Pelopidas,   who  sunknondM. 
under  the  heavy  charge,  and  produced  no  other  ar*> 
guments  to  save  himself,  than  prayers  and  supplica- 
tions;   whereas,  on  the  contrary,   Epaminondas* 
magm^ong  the  exploits  he  had  performed,  and  re- 
proaching the  people  in  ahaught)r  arrogant  manner, 
they  had  not  tne  courage  so  much  as  to  proceed  to  a 
ballot,  but  broke  up  the  court,  the  whole  assembly 
highly  commending  the  noble  spirit  of  this  great 
man. 

Dionysius  the  elder  having,  by  a  tedious.and  very  i*t«k«tfc. 
difficult  siege,  taken  the  city  of  Reggio,  and  in  it^f^of^id' 
the  governor  Fhyton,  that  great'and  good  man,  whii^»^<»y*^'i 

*  Plutardiy  in  his  treatise,  wherein  he  coosiderg  bow  &r  a  maa 
may  praise  himself^  ch.  5. 

b2 


4  /  THE  SAltlE  £:^rD  GAINED 

o'Ts*^™^  had  so  obstinately  defended  it,  was  resolved  to  make 
cu«e!"*"    him  a  tragical  example  6f  his  revenge ;  *  in  ordet" 
whereunto,  he  first  of  all  told  him,  that  he  had  the 
.  '    day  before  caused  his  son,  and  all  his  kindred,  to  be 
drowned:  to  which  Phyton  returned  iio  other  answer, 
but,  "  that  they  were  then  happier  than  himself  by 
*'  one  day.**     After  this,  causing  him  to  be  stripped, 
and  delivered  into  the  hands  of  the  executioners,  they 
not  only  dragged  him  through  the  Streets  of  the  city, 
and  most  ignominiously  and  crtielly  whipped  him, 
but  also  vilified  him  with  most  bitter  and  contunne- 
lious  language.     Yet  still  his  couldge  did  not  once 
fail  him  j  but,  on  the  contrary,  with  a  strong  voice, 
and  undaunted  countenance,  he  put  the  people  in 
mind  of  the  glorious  cause  of  his  death  ;  namely,  that 
he  would  not  deliver  up  his  coimtry  into  the  hands  of 
a  tyrant ;  and  at  the  same  time  he  threatened  him 
with  speedy  chastisement  from  the .  gods.    Diony sius, 
reading  in  the  looks  of  his  soldiers,  that,  instead  of 
being  incensed  at  the  bravadoes  of  this  vanquished 
enemy,  in  contempt  of  him  their  general,  and  of  his 
triumph,  they  not  only  seemed  mollified  with  admira- 
tion of  such  uncommon  virtue,  but  ready  as  it  were  to 
mutiny,  and  even  to  rescue  Phyton  out  of  his  officers' 
hands,  he  put  an  end  to  his  torments,  by  sending  hira 
^afterwards  privately  to  be  thrown  into  the  sea, 
Man  a  va-  /  To  Say  the  truth,  Man  is  a  subject  wonderfully 
nabieani-  y^in,  ficklc,  and  uustablc,  of  whom  it  is  not  easy  to 
Poiipcy'8  firame  any  certain  and  uniform  judgment.  /For  in- 
thfTnic^  stance,  rompey  pardoned  the  whole  city  of  the  Ma- 
cesaioD  ofa  mertifaes,  though  he  was  very  much  enraged  against 
Sfci^rlir  it,  from  pure  regard  to  the  virtue  and  magnanimity 
lay  dowo  of  one  citizen,  Zeno,  t  who  took  the  fault  of  the  pub- 

L 

*  Diodorus  of  Sicily,  lib.  xiv.  c.  29. 

f  Plutarch,  in  his  "  Instructions  to  those  who  manage  state  affiure,*^ 
ph.  17,;  calls  this  citizen  by  the  name  of  Sthenon.  In  the  notable 
sayings  of  the  ancient  kings,  princes,  and  generals,  where  Plutarch 
has  relat;ed  the  same  story  unaer  the  article  Pompey,  this  brave  citi* 
zen  is  called  Stennius.  But  in  the  life  of  Pompey,  ch.  3,  the  same 
Plutarch  tells  us,  that  Pompey  treated  all  the  towns  of  Sicily  witit 


BY  DIPFEKENr  MEANS.  S 

Ik^uppn  hiniselfalone,  and  desired  no  other  favour  Ms  life  for 
than  tx>  suffer  all  the  punishment  due  to  it.     YetJJJi^'^7 
Alexander,  the  most  courageous  of  mankind^  who  Alexander 
WBS  so  gracious  to  the  vanquished,  having,  after  ma-  crueit^to* 
ny  great  difficulties,  taken  the  city  of  Gaza,    and » ^*""* 
finding  Betis,  who  commanded  there,  and  of  whose  *"^^" 
valour,   during  the  siqge,   he  had  seen  wonderful 
proofs,  quite  alone,  abandoned  by  all  his  soldiers, 
his  armour  hacked  and  hewed  to  pieces,  his  body 
covered  all  over  with  blood  and  wounds,  still  %hting 
with  a  number  of  Macedonians,  who  attacked  him  6n 
all. sides,'  he.  said  to  him,  being  nettled  at  a  victory 
so  dear  bought,  (for,  besides  other  damage,  he  had  ' 
received  two  fresh  wounds)*     *' Thou  shalt  not  die,    . 
*'  Beds,  the  death  thou  choosest,  but  shalt  assuredly 
**  suffer  all  the  kinds  of  torments  that  can  be  inflicted 
**  on  a  captive."     Betis  returning  no  answer  to  these 
menaces,  but  only  a.fiercc  disdainful  frown,  *'  What ! 
*'  (said  Alexander,  observing  his  surly  silence)  is  he 
**  too  stiff  to  bend  a  knee  ?  Is  he  too  proud  to  utter 
**  one  supplication?  I  will  most  certainly  conquer  this 
**  silence  ;  and  if  I  cannot  force  a  word  from  his  lips, 
**  I  will  at  least  extort  a  groan  from  his  heart.**     His 
anger  then  swelling  into  rage,  he  commanded  his 
heels  to  be  bored  through,  and  Causisd  him  to  be 
dragged,  mangled,  and  dismembered  alive,  at  the 
tail  of  a  cart.     Was  the  height  of  courage  so  natural 
and  familiar  to  this  conqueror,  that,  rather  than  ad- 
mire it,  h6  the  less  esteemed  it  ?  Or,  did  he  conceive 
it  to  be  a  virtue  so  peculiar  to  himself,  that  his  pride 
could  not,  without  envy,  endure  to  see  it  in  another  ? 
Or,  was  the  natural  impetuosity  of  his  wrath  incapa- 
ble of  anv  check?    Certainly,  had  it  been  possible 
for  any  thing  to  curb  it,  it  is  to  be  believed,  it  must  And  totbe 
have  been  at  the  sacking  and  desolation  of  Thebes,  r^^ 

humanity,  except  that  of  the  Mamertines;  and  that,  having  like- 
wise resolved  to  chastise  that  of  the  Himeriahs,  ^s  fuiy  was  dis- 
armed by  the  generosity  of  Sthenis,  one  of  the  governors  of  the 
lown,  who  took  the  whole  blame  of  the  public  upon  himself.     « 
*  Q.  Curtius,  lib.  iv.  c  6. 


OF  80BB0W. 

to  see  so  many  valiant  men  niined^  and,  totattjr  de- 
fenceless, cruelly  butchered  by  the  sword ;  for  there 
were  full  6000  lolled,  of  whom*  not  one  turned  his 
back,  or  cried  out  for  quarter;  but,  on  the  contrary, 
every  one  ran  about  through  the  streets,  striving  to 
provoke  die  victors  to  put  them  to  an  honourable 
death.  There  was  not  one  who  did  not,  to  his  last 
gasp,  still  endeavour  to  revenge  himself,  and,  with 
the  wemons  of  despair,  to  sedc  comfort  in  his  own 
death,  by  the  death  of  some  enemy.  Yet  did  thehr 
afflicted  virtue  create  no  pity,  nor  was  one  day  long 
enough  to  glut  the  conqueror's  vengeance ;  ror  the 
daughter  continued  till  not  a  drop  of  blood  remained 
to  be  shed,  except  that  of  helpless  persons,  old  men, 
women,  and  children,  of  whom  30,000  were  carried 
into  slavery. 


CHAPTER  IL 


Of  Sorrow. 

A  CM*     i%0  man  living  is  more  free  from  this  passion  than 
*^1on'*  I  am,  who  neither  like  it  in  myself,  nor  admire  it  in 
^^  ^"'     others  J  yet  the  world  is  pleased  to  honour  it  as  it 
were  in  the  lump  with  a  particular  fitvour,  and  to 
make  it  the  ornament  of  wisdom,  virtue,  and  con- 
science.   A  silly  mean  dress !  The  Italians  have  more 
properly  given  me  name  to  surliness  which  is  meant 
Id  «ftc(i.  oy  their  word  tristezza ;  it  being  a  quality  always 
malignant,  always  foolish ;  and,  as  it  is  always  coward- 
ly and  mean,  the  Stoics  would  not  allow  their  wise 
men  to  be  sensible  of  it.    Nevertheless  we  read  in 
history ,t  that  Psammenitus,  king  of  Egypt,  being 
defeated  and  taken  prisoner  by  Cambyses,  king  of 


*  Diodorus  of  Sicily^  lib.  xviL  ch.  4. 

t  H^rodotus^  lib.  iil  p.  187|  18&  EcL  Steph.  anno  159& 


OP  SORROW.  7 

Persia,  seeing  his  daughter  pass  by  him  in  ihe  habit 
of  a  servant  sent  to  draw  water,  though  his  friends 
d^ut  him  burst  into  tears  and  lamentations,  yet  he 
himself  remained  unmoved,  without  uttering  a  word, 
and  with  his^  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground :  and  that 
seeing,  likewise,  his  son  immediately  afler  led  to  ex- 
ecution, he  still  maintained  the  same  composure  of 
countenance,  till  spying  one  of  his  domestics  dragged 
away  amongst  the  captives,  he  smote  his  forehead, 
and  mourned  sadly.  Similar  to  this,  is  the  ^tory  of  a 
late  prince  of  our  own  nation,  who  being  at  Trent, 
and  naving  news  brought  him  of  the  death  of  his 
elder  brother,  but  a  brother  on  whom  depended  the 
whole  support  and  honour  of  his  house ;  and  hearing 
soonafter  of  the  death  of  a  younger  brother,  the  second 
hope  of  his  family,  he  withstood  both  these  strokes 
with  an  exemplary  magnanimity;  but  one  of  hia 
servants  happening,  a  few  days  afler,  to  die,  he  suf* 
fcred  his  constancy  to  be  overcome  by  this  last  event, 
and  losing  his  courage,  so  abandoned  himself  to  sor- 
row and  mourning,  that  some  from  thence  concluded 
he  was  only  pierced  to  the  quick  by  this  last  shock  ; 
but  the  truth  is,  that  being  before  brimfid  of  grief, 
the  least  addition  overflowed  the  bounds  of .  his 
patience.  The  same  might  also  be  judged  of  the 
former  example,  did  not  history  proceed  to  tell  us, 
that  Cambyses  asking  Psammenitus,*  "  Why  he  was 
'^  so  unconcerned  at  the  misfortune  of  his  son  and 
^^  daughter,  and  so  impatient  at  the  death  of  his 
**  friend  ?  It  is  (answered  he)  because  this  last  afflic- 
**  tion  was  only  to  be  discovered  by  tears,  the  two  first 
••  exceeding  ail  manner  of  expression.'^ 

Something  like  this  might,  perhaps,  be  working  in  Extreme 
the  fancy  of  the  painter  of  old,  wno  being,  in  the'^^j^j* 
sacrifice  of  Iphigenia,t  to  represent  the  sorrow  of  the  a«>ie. 
by-standers  proportionably  to  the  degrees  in  wliich 
they  were  variously  affected  by  the  death  of  this 

*  Herod,  lib,  iii.  pi.  188. 

t  Val.  Max.  lib.  viii.  c.  11.  in  extemis,  §  6, 


OF  SORROW. 

innocent  fair,  and  having  in  the  other  figures  exerted 
t^e  utmost  power  of  his  art,  he  drew  that  of  the 
virgin's  father  with  a  veil  over  his  face,  meaning 
thereby,  that  no  kind  of  countenance  was  capable  of 
expressing  such  a  degree  of  sorrow  as  his  was.  This 
is  the  reason  why  Uie  poets  feign  the  unfortunate 
mother,  Niobe,  after  having  first  lost  six  sons,  and 
successively  as  many  daughters,  to  be  quite  stupified 
with  grief,  and  at  last  petrified ; 

Dirigiiisse  malis;* 


-whom  grief  alone, 


Had  power  to  stiffen  into  stone: 

thereby  to  express  that  melancholic,  dumb,  and  deaf 
stupidity  which  benumbs  all  our  faculties,  when  op- 
pressed with  accidents,  which  we  are  not  able  to  sup- 
port under ;  and,  indeed,  the  operation  of  grief,  if  it  be 
excessive,  miist  so  overwhelm  the  soul,  as  to  deprive 
it  of  tlie  liberty  of  its  fiinctions  ;  as  happens  to  every 
one  of  us,  who,  upon  the  first  alarm  of  every  ill  news, 
find  ourselves  surprised,  stupified,  and  in  a  manner 
deprived  of  all  power  of  motion ;  so  that  the  soul,  by 
^ving  vent  to  sighs  and  tears,  seems  to  disentangle 
jtself,  and  obtain  more  room  and  freedom, 

Ei  via  vix  tandem  tfoci  laxata  dohre  est.f 

And  when,  by  struggling,  grief  is  almost  spent, 
'Tis  eas'd  at  length,  by  gi\ing  words  some  vent. 

Grief  the  In  the  war  which  king  Ferdinand  made  upon  the 
Mddtn  ^  dowager  of  king  John  of  Hungary,  a  man  iq  armoiir 
iiratii.  was  particularly  taken  notice  of  by  every  one  for  his 
extraordinary  gallantry  in  a  certain  encounter  near 
Buda,  and,  being  unknown,  was  highly  commended, 
and  as  much  lamented  when  left  dead  upon  the  spot, 
but  by  none  so  much  as  by  Raisciac,  a  German 
nobleman,  who  was  charmed  with  such  unparalleled 
v  ^our.  The  body  being  brought  off  the  field  of 
^  ttle,  and  the  count,  with  the  common  curiosity^ 

*  Ov.  Met,  lib.  vi,  fab.  4.  f  iEneid.  lib.  xi,  ven  151f 


i, 

^ 


OF  SORROW.  9 

^oing  to  view  it,  the  armour  of  the  deceased  was  no 
sooner  taken  off,  but  he  knew  him  to  be  his  own  son. 
This  increased  the  compassion  of  all  the  spectators ; 
only  the  count,  without  utterinff  one  word,  or 
changing  his  countenance,  stood  like  a  stock,  with 
his  eyes  fixed  on  the  corpse,  till  the  vehemency  of 
sorrow  having  overwhelmed  his  vital  spirits,  he  sunk 
stone  dead  to  the  ground* 

The  lovers,  who  would  represent  an  unsupport* 
able  passion^  say,    , 

Chx  puo  dir  com'  egli  arde,  ?  m  picciolfuoco!* 

The  man  who  can  his  ardent  love  declare. 
Has  of  that  passion  but  a  scanty  share. 

rMiscro  quod  omnes 
Ertpit  sensus  mihi :  nam  simul  te, 
Jjeslia,  aspexi,  rdhil  est  super  mi 

Quod  ioquar  amens ; 
Lingua  sed  iorpet,  tenues  sub  artus 
FUrnima  dlmanat ;  sonitu  suopte 
Tirauant  aures,  gemina  teguntvr 

Lumma  nocte,\ 

Thoij,  Lesbia,  robb'd  my  soul  of  rest. 
And  rais'd  those  tumults  in  my  breast; 
For  while  \  gaz'd  in  transports  tost. 
My  oreath  was  gone,  my  voice  was  lost. 
My  bosom,  glow'd;  the  subtle  flame 
Ran  quick  thro'  all  my  vital  frame : 
O'er  my  dim  eyes  a  darkness  hung. 
My  ears  with  liollow  murmurs  rung. 

It  appears  from  hence,  that  in  the  height  and 
greatest  fury  of  the  fit,  we  are  not  in  a  condition  to 
pour  out  our  complaints,  or  to  use  persuasion,  the 
soul  being  at  that  time  oppressed  with  profound 
thought,  and  the  body  dejected  and  languishing 
yrith  desire ;  and  thence  it  is  that  sometimes  proceed 
those  accidental  impotencies  which  so  unseasonably 
•urprise  the  passionate  lover,  and  that  frigidity 
ivhich,  by  the  force  of  an  immoderate  ardour,  seL  *>» 

^  *  Petrarch,  fol.  70,  di  Gab.  GioUto  at  Venice,  1745. 
f  Cat.Epig.49, 


JO  arF  SOBAOm 

him,  even  in  the  very  hqp  of  fruition :  for  all  p; 
sions  that  suffer  themselves  to  be  relished  and  di« 
gested,  are  but  moderate. 

Cur(B  leves  loqiamtur^  ingenies  stupeni.^ 

l^S^t  griefs  are  plaintive^  but  the  great  are  dumb. 

Other  rf-      Sudden  and  unexpected  joy  likewise  produces  the 
jSf."*^     same  effect- 

Ui  me  conspexit  venientem^  ei  Troia  circum 
Arma  omens  vidit,  magnis  exterrUa  menstris^ 
Diripdt  visu  in  medio,  color  ossa  reliquity 
Labttur,  et  Imgo  vix  tandem  tempore  faiur.\ 

Soon  as  she  saw  me  oomiag,  and  beheld 

The  Trojan  ensigns  waving  in  the  field. 

She  was  astonish'd  at  th'  nnlodc'd  for  sight. 

And,  like  a  statue,  lost  all  feeling  quite. 

Life's  gentle  heat  did  her  stiff  limbs  forsake, 

She  swoon'd;  at  length  with  fault'ring  t<mgue  she  spake* 

Besides  the  examples  of  the  Roman  ladyt  who  died 
for  joy  to  see  her  son  safe  returned  from  the  battle 
of  Cannae,  and  of  Sophocles^  and  Dionysius  the 
tyrant,§  who  also  both  died  of  joy,  and  of  Talva,|| 
who  died  in  Cor»ca  at  reading  the  news  of  the 
honours  which  the  Roman  senate  had  decreed  for 

*  Seneca  Hippol.  Act.  iL  Scene  S. 

+  Virg.  iEneid.  lib.  iii.  vcr,  306.  &c 

X  Pliny,  NaL  Hist.  lib.  vii.  v.  S^.  Titus  Livy  relates  an  accident, 
much  like  this,  which  happened  afier  the  battle  of  Thrasimene,  lib. 
ilxii*  cap.  7. 

§  Pliny  asserts  positively,  that  the  joy  of  having  won  the  prize  in 
tragedy  put  an  end  to  the  days  of  Sophocles  and  old  Dipnysius  the 
^rant  of  Sicily;  see  his  NaL  Hist.  lib.  viL  cap.  5S.  But,  as  to 
Dionysius,  if  we  ma^  believe  Diodorus  Siculus,  the  joy  that  pos* 
sessed  him,  on  his  wmning  the  prize  in  traeedy,  ran  him  into  such 
extravagancies  as  were  the  true  cause  of  his  death.  ^  He  was  so 
'  overjoyed  at  the  news,'  says  the  historian,  <  that  he  made  a  ^eat 
*  sacrifice  upon  it  to  the  Gods;  prepared  sumptv 


ptuous  feasts,  to  which 
*  he  invited'  all  his  friends,  andt  therein  drank  so  excessively,  that 
'  it  threw  him  into  a  very  bad  distemper.'  Lib*  xv.  cap.  20,  of 
Amyot's  translation.' 

II  In  Valer.  M aximus,  lib.  ix.  in  Romanis,  §  3,  where  he  is  calleid 
M.  Juventius  Thalma;  Pliny,  who  only  says,  that  he  died  in  making- 
his^sacrifice,  calls  him,  M.  Juventius  Talva,  lib.  viL  cap.  53* 


OUR  AffXCTIOKa  XXTENBE0)  ETC  11 

hhn,  we  have  one  in  our  time,  viz.  Pope  Leo  X. 
who,  upon  the  news  of  the  taking  of  Milan,  a  thing 
he  had  set  his  heart  upon,  was  so  overjoyed,  that  he 
immediately  fell  into  a  fever,  and  died.*  As  a  more 
remarkable  testimony  of  the  weakness  of  human 
nature,  it  is  recorded,  that  Diodorus  the  logician 
died  upon  the  spot,t  from  excessive  shame,  not 
being  able,  in  his  own  school,  and  in  the  presence  of 
a  great  auditory,  to  resolve  a  quibbling  question^ 
whidi  was  pronounced  to  him  by  Stilpo.  For  my 
own  part,  I  am  very  little  subject  to  these  violent 
passions.  I  am  naturally  slow  of  apprehension, 
which,  by  conversation,  grows  thicker  and  duller 
t\exy  day. 


CHAPTER  IIL 


That    Mr    Afftctiom    art    extended   beyond  our 
Existence. 

JL  HEY,  who  accuse  mankind  of  the  folly  of  gaping  Mukind 
always  after  ftiturity,  and  advise  us  to  lay  hold  w  ^^J^J^f^^ 
good  which  is  present,  as  having  too  short  reach  tOrity. 
seize  that  which  is  to  come,  a  uiing  even  more  im- 
possible for  us  than  to  recover  what  is  past,  have  hit 
upon  the  most  universal  of  human  errors,  if  that 
may  be  called  an  error,  whereto  nature  itself  haa 
disposed  us,  which,  for  die-better  continuation  of  her  * 
own  work,  has,  among  several  others,  impressed  \x% 
with  this  deluding  imagination,  as  being  more  jealpua^ 
of  what  we  do,  than  what  we  know.    For  we  arc^ 
never  present  widi,  but  always  bevond  ourselves., 
Fear,  desire,  and  hope  violently  pusn  us  on  towards 
what  is  to  come,  and  deprive  us  of  the  sense  and 

*  Francis  Gaicciardin's  Hialory  of  Italy,  lib.  xir.  p.  394,  vol.  £. 
t  Pliny's  Nat  Hist.  lib.  tii.  cap.  52. 


1«  OtTR  AFFECTIONS'EXTENDED 

consideration  of  that  which  is  present,  by  amusing 
us  ivith  the  thought  of  what  will  be,  even  when  we 
shall  be  no  more. 

Calami toms  est  animus  fiUuri  anxius.* 
Incessant  fears  the  anxious  mind  molest. 

The  rfoty       Plato  often  repeats  this  great  precept,t  Do  what 
•^.°*"-     ifchou  hast  to  do;  and  know  thyself.     Of  these  two 
parts,  each  comprehends  our  whole  duty  in  general 
terms,  and,  in  like  manner,  each  includes  the  other  ; 
for  he  that  would  mind  his  own  business,  Ivill  find, 
that  his  ffi'st  lesson  is,  to  know  what  he  is,  and  what 
is  proper  for  him :  and  he  who  rightly  understands 
himself,  will  never  mistake  another  man's  work  for 
his  own,  but  will  love  and  improve  himself  above  all 
other  things ;  will  refiise  superfluous  employments, 
and  reject  all  unprofitable  schemes  and  proposals. 
As  the  fool,  thbugh  he  should  enjoy  all  that  he  can 
possibly  desire,  would  not  be  content ;  so  the  wise 
man  acquiesces  with  the  present,  and  is  never  dis- 
satisfied.    Epicurus  exempts  his  wise  men  from  all 
foresight  and  care  of  fiiturity. 
Therea-        Amoug  the  laws  relating  to  the  dead,  I  look  upon 
JJ^ToHhc  ^^^  ^  salutary  by  which  the  actions  of  princes  are 
law  which  to  bc  cxamiucd  after  their  decease.     They  are,  while 
cMduc?  of  living,  at  least  associates  in  making  the  laws,  if  not 
princes  to  the  m'astcrs  of  them  ;    and,  therefore,  what  justice 
cd  in"o"^I  could  not  inflict  upon  their  persons,  it  is  but  rcason- 
iCT  t^hcir     able  should  be  executed  upon  their  reputations,  and 
the  estates  of   their    successors,    things    tliat    we 
often  value  above  life  itself.t      This  is  a  custom  of 
singular  advantage  to  those  countries  where  it  is  ob- 
served, and  as  much  to  be  desired  by  aU  good  princes, 
who  have  reason  to  be  offended  that  the  memories  of 
the  wicked  should  be  treated  with  the  same  respect 
as  their 's.     We  owe,  it  is  true,  subjection  and  obe-i 

♦  Seneca,  Epist  98. 
.  f  In  Timseu^  p.  544,'lEdit.  Loemariane,  at  Lyons,  1590. 
\  Diodorus  of  Sicily,  lib.  i.  cap*  6. 


BfitOND  OUR  EXt8Tl3N<?fi/  ^l» 

dience  to  all  kings  alike,  in  regard- to  their  ofRce  ; 
but,  as  to  affection  and  esteem,  these  arc  only  due*  to  . 
their  virtue.  Admitting  even  that  we  ooght  to  be 
passive  under  unworthy  princes,  to  conceal  their 
vices,  and  commend  their  indifferent  actions,  whilst 
their  authority  stands  in  nee<:l  of  our  supiK>rt :  yet, 
when  ail  relation  betwixt  the  prince  and  subject  is  at 
an  end,  ther^  is  no  reason  why  we  should  not,  for  the 
*ake  of  our  own  liberty,  and  of  common  jiistice, 
publish  our  real  resentments.  To  debar  good-  sub^ 
jects  the  glory  of  having  reverently  and  faithftiUy 
served  a  prince,  whose  imperfections  they  so  well 
knew,  were  to  deprive  posterity  of  an  useful  example. 
And  they  who,  out  of  respect  to  some  obligation,  un-  '  ^ 
justly  defend  the  memory  of  a  bad  prince,  against 
their  own  knowledge  and  consciences,  perform  a 
private  act  of  gratitude  at  tlie  expence  of  public 
justice.  Titus  Livius*  very  truly  says,  that  the 
language  of  courtiers  is  always  sounding  of  vain 
ostentation,  and  not  to  be  depended  on  ;  every  one 
indifferently  extolling  his  own  king's  valour  and 
greatness  to  the  highest  pitch.  It  is  not  impossible 
but  some  may  condemn  the  courage  of  those  two 
soldiers,  who  boldly  answered  Nero  to  his  face  ;  the 
one  being  asked  by  him,  t  "  Why  he  bore  him  ilU 
*'  will?"  "  I  was  true  to  thee,"  he  said,  "  whilst 
*'  thou  wast  worthy  of  my  love ;  but  when  thou 
**  didst  turn  parricide,  incendiary,  a  stage-player, 
**  and  a  coachman,  I  began  to  hate  thee,  and  do  so 
"  still/'  And  the  other  being  asked,  t  "  Why 
**  he  had  a  design  to  take  away  his  life  ?"  "  Be- 
*'  cause,"  said  he,  "  I  had  no  other  remedy  against 
"thy  perpetual  mischiefs."  But,  considering  the 
■public  and  universal  testimonies  that  were  given  after 
nis  death  (and  will  be  to  all  posterity,  both  of  him, 
and  all  other  bad  princes  like  him)  of  his  tyralnnical 
and  wicked  practices,  what  man  in  his  senses  can 
blame  them  ? 

•  Lib.  locxv.  c!  48;      f  Tach.  Annal,  1.  xr.  c.  67.      t  ^^'^^'  c.  6ft. 


|«  OUR  AFFECTIONS  EXTENDED 

y«in  cere-     I  con&ss,  I  BSH  scancklized,  that  in  so  sacred  a 
JJJ^^^  government  as  that  of  the  Lacedsemoniai^, .  there 
MODiani  at  should  be  SO  hypocritical  a  ceremony  used  at  the 
tr£S^  death  of  their  kings,  when  all  their  confederates  and 
i^BKs.       neighbours,  and  all  sorts  and  degrees  of  men  and 
women,  as  well  as  their  slaves,  cut  and  slashed  th&t 
foreheads,  in  token  of  sorrow,   repeating  in  their 
cries  and  lamentations,*  that  that  king  (let 'him  have 
been  as  wicked  as  the  Devil)  was  the  best  they  ever 
)iad;  thereby  attributing  to  his  quality  the  praise 
that  belongs  to  merit,  and  to  the  highest  degree  of 
it,  tiiough  m  the  meanest  member  of  tne  community. 
Aristotle,  who  leaves  no  subject  untouched,  makes 
ReiectioBta  querv  upon  the  saying  of  Solon,t  That  none  can 
^^oml  ^®  s^^  *^  be  happy  before  he  be  dead.    Whether 
Tis.  That  any  person,  who  has  even  lived  and  died  according 
w«id  to°to  ^s  heart's  desire,  can  be  termed  happy,  if  he  has 
J«^|»ppy  left  an  ill  character  behind  him,  or  if  his  posterity  is 
^'         miserable.    Whilst  we  have  life  and  motion,  we  con- 
vey ourselves  by  fancy  or  anticipation  whither,  and 
to  what  we  please  j  but  when  once  we  are  out  of 
being,  we  have  no  communication  with  the  worlds 
and  therefore  it  had  been  better  said  of  Solon,  That ) 
no  man  is  ever  happy,  because  he  is  not  so  till  afteir 
he  is  no  more*    !        i .--,  ^ 


before 


-Etinde 


Fix  radidius  i  vita  se  tottit,  ei  gidt, 
Sedfacit  esse  sui  quiddam  super  inscius  ipse, 
Nfic  removet  satis  a  projecto  corpore  sese,  et 
.     idicat.X—^ 

He  boasts  no  sense  can  after  death  remain. 
Yet  makes  himself  a  part  of  life  again, 
As  if  some  other  hs  could  feel  the  pain. 


} 


Tke  dttd .      Bertrand  de  Glesquin  dying  before  the  castle  of 

5^^"  Rancon,  near  Puy  in  Auvergne,  the  besieged  were 

afterward,   upon  surrender,  obliged  to  deposit  the 

keys  of  the  place  upon  his  corse.     Bartholomew 

^  Herodot  lib.  vi.  p.  401.  f  Ibid*  lib.  I  p.  14w 

X  Lucreu  lib.  liL  Yen  890. 


SETOND  OUR  CXiSTENCfi.  H? 

d'Alvisno,  the  Venetian  general,  happening  to  die 
in  their  wars  in  Brescia,  and  his  corpse  being  brought 
back  to  Venice  through  the  territories  of  Verona, 
tine  enemy's  country,  most  of  the  army  were  for  de- 
siring a  safe  conduct  for  it  from  the  Veronese ;  but 
TheodcMre  Trivulsio  opposed  it,  radier  choosing  to 
make  way  for  it  by  force  of  arms,  at  the  hazard  of  a 
battle,  saying.  It  is  not  meet  that  he,  who  in  his  life 
was  never  afraid  of  his  enemies,  should  seem  to  fear 
them  when  he  was  dead.  And,  in  truth,  in  a  case 
of  much  the  same  nature,  by  the  Greek  laws,  he  who 
made  suit  to  an  enemy  fer  the  interment  of  a  dead 
body,  did,  by  that  act,  renounce  his  victory,  and 
his  right  to  erect  a  trophy;  and.he,  to  whom  such  suit 
was  made,  was  ever  reputed  the  conqueror.  By  this  ' 
means,  it  was  that  Nicias  lost  the  advantage  that  he 
had  visibly  gained  over  the  Corinthians,  and  that 
Afresilaus,  on  the  contrary,  confirmed  the  doubtful 
tiUe  he  had  before  to  what  he  gained  from  the 
Boeotians. 

These  proceedings  might  appear  very  odd,  had  itne  opP 
not  been  a  general  practice  in  all  ages,  not  only  to  "^^"^^'fj^j 


extend  the  care  of  ourselves  beyond  this  life,  but,  the  favoan 
moreover,  to  &ncy,  that  very  oflten  the  favours  of ^^^pj^ 
Heaven  accompany  us  to  the  grave,  and  continue  nyibemio 
even  to  oar  relics.    Of  this  there  are  so  many  in-**^*™^** 
stances  among  the  ancients,  waving  those  of  our  own 
time,  that  it  is  not  necessary  I  should  enlarge  upon 
the  subject.     Edward,  king  of  England,  the^f^st  of 
that  name,  having,  in  the  long  wars  betwixt  hijd  and 
Robert,  king  of  Scotland,  experienced  of  how  great 
advantage  his  own  immediate  presence  was  to  his  af- 
fairs,  as  he  had  been  always  victorious  where  he 
was   personally  engaged,   when  he  came   to  die, 
bound  his  son  by  a  solemn  oath,  that,  as  soon  as  he 
was  dead,  he  should  cause  his  body  to  be  boiled  till 
the  flesh  parted  from  the  bones ;  and,  afler  burying 
the  flesh,  to  carry  the  bones  continually  with  him  in 
his  army,  so  often  as  he  should  be  obliged  to 
^igainst  the  Scots ;  as  if  victory  had  been  chained 


Tr 


16  OUR  AFFECTIONS  EXTENinED 

destiny  to  his  joints.     So  John  Zisca,  who,  in  viniil- 
cation  of  Wickliffe's  heresies^  disturbed  the  Bohe- 
mians, left  order,  that  they  should  flea  him  after  his 
death,  and  make  a  drum  of  his  skin,  to  carry  into 
the  field  against  His  enemies,  fancying  it  would  con- 
tribute greatly  to  the  continuation  of  the  successes 
he  had  obtained  over  them.     In  like  manner,  som^ 
of  the  Indians,  in  day  of  battle  with  the  Spaniards, 
carried  with  them  the  bones  of  one  of  their  captains, 
in  consideration  of  the  victories  they  had  formerly 
obtained  under  his  conduct.     And  other  people^  of 
the  same  new  world,  do  yet  carry  about  with  them, 
in  their  wars,  the  relics  of  valiant  men  who  have 
died  in  battle,  to  excite  their  courage,  and  advance 
their  fortune.     Of  these  examples,  the  first  only  re- 
serve for  the  tomb  the  reputation  they  gained  by 
their  achievements,  but  the  latter  attribute  a  certain 
agency  to  their  dead  limbs.     The  behaviour  of  cap- 
tain Bayard  was  more  rational  and  magnanimous, 
who,  finding  himself  mortally  wounded  with  a  shot 
fi'om  a  harquebuss,  and  being  advised  to  retire  out 
of  the  field,  made  answer,  that  he  would  not  begin 
at  the  last  gasp  to  turn  his  back  to  the  enemy,  and 
fought  on  as  long  as  he  had  strength ;  till  feeling^ 
himself  too  faint,  and  no  longer  able  to  sit  his  horse, 
he  commanded  his  steward  to  set  him  down  against 
the  root  of  a  tree,  but  in  such  a  posture,  that  he 
might  die  with  his  face  towards  the  enemy ;  which 
he  did. 
The  singa-     I  must  jet  add  another  example  as  remarkable,  with 
ofMaximu^^g^^d  to  the  prcscut  subject,  as  the  former.     The 
liftn  the     emperor  Maximilian,  great  grand&ther  to  Philip,  the 
tmperor.   p^^geut  king  of  Spain,  was  a  prince  richly  endowed 
with  great  qualities,  and  remarkably  handsome,  but 
had  at  the  same  time  a  humour  very  contrary  to  that 
of  other  princes,  who,  for  the  dispatch  of  their  most 
important  affairs,   convert  their  close-stool  into  a 
chair  of  state,  viz.  That  he  never  permitted  any  of 
his  valets,  how  much  a  favourite  soever,  to  attend 
him  in  his  privy,  but  stole  aside  to  make  water ;  and 


tiEYOKD  OltR  £S:iST£KC£.  17 

WAS  ds  shy  as  a  virgin  to  discover  either  to  his  phy- 
sician, or  any  other  person  whatsoever,  those  parts 
of  the  body  that  are  by  custom  kept  secret.  And  I 
mysdf,  Who  never  blush  at  what  I  say,  am  yet  na^ 
turall}^  so  modest  in  this  point,  that,  unless  it  be  at 
the  importunity  of  necessity  or  pleasure,  I  very 
rarely  let  any  one  see  those  parts  and  actions  which 
custom  requires  us  to  conceal.  In  this  I  also 
sufler  more  constraint  than  I  conceive  is  very  well 
becoming  a  man,  especially  of  my  profession.  But 
the  emperor  indulged  this  modest  humour  to  such  a 
degree  of  superstition,  as  to  give  express  orders  in 
his  last  will,  that  they  should  put  him  on  drawers  as 
soon  as  he  was  dead ;  to  w^n,  methinks,  he  would 
have  done  well  to  have  added  by  a  codicil,  that  who- 
ever put  them  on  should  be  hoodwinked.  The  Cynu'f  ns 
charge  which  Cyrus  left  with  his  children,*  that  nei- JI^J^^/'"' 
ther  they,  nor  any  other,  should  either  see  or  touch 
his  body  after  the  soul  was  departed  from  it,  I  attri- 
bute to  some  superstitious  devotion  ;  both  his  histo- 
rian, and  himself,  amongst  other  great  qualities, 
having,  iri  the  whole  course  of  their  lives,  demon- 
strated a  singular  attention  and  respect  to  religion. 

I  was  by  no  means  pleased  with  a  story  told  me  by 
a  great  man,  of  a  relation  of  mine  who  had  been 
very  eminent  both  in  peace  and  war,  that,  being  ar- 
rived to  a  very  old  age,  and  excessively  tormented 
with  the  stone,  he  spent  the  last  hours  of  his  life  in 
an  extraordinary  solicitude  about  ordering  the  pomp 
and  ceremony  of  his  funeral,  pressing  all  the  men  of 
condition  who  came  to  see  him,  to  promise  their  at- 
tendance on  him  to  his  grave.  He  most  earnestly 
importuned  the  very  prince,  who  visited  him  in  his 
last  sanies,  that  he  would  order  his  &mily  to  join  in 
the  raneral  procession,  urging  several  reasons  and 
examples  to  him,  to  prove  that  it  was  a  respect  due 
to  a  person  of  his  condition ;  and,  having  obtained  a 
promise,  and  appointed  the  method  and  order  of  hii^ 

*  Xenophon's  Cyropttdii^  lib.  tuL  cap,  7f  towards  the  end 
VOL.  I.  .  C 


1$  OUR  AFF£CTX0K9  k&tenped 

funeral  parade,  Ke  seemed  to.  die  conteut.  Sa  mncli 
vanity  as  this  was,  to  the  very  last^  I  scarce  evear 
kaew! 
Fonermit  Auothcr,  though  ft  Contrary  curiosity  (of  whicb 
^el^to^  I  do  not  want  a  domestic  example),  seems  to  be  some- 
vasBifi.  what  a-kin  to  this ;  that  a  man  shaU  cudael  his  brains^ 
iMmm.  ^^  ^®  ^*  moments  of  his  life,  to  regiuate  his  ohse- 
quies  with  so  particular  and  upusual  a  parsimony,  a^ 
to  permit  no  more  attendance  than  one  single  ser«- 
vast  with  a  lanthorn ;.  and  yet  I  see  this  humour 
commended,  as  well  as  the  appointment  of  Marcua 
iEmiHus  Lc^idus,*  who  forbade  his  hoirs  to  bestow 
upon  his  corpse  sa  much  as  the  common  ceremonies 
in  use  upon  such  occasions.  Is  it  temperance  and 
frugality  to  avoid  expense  and  pleasure^  when  the 
U3e  and  Imowledge  thereof  are  by.  us  imperceptible  i 
An  easy  and  cheap  reformation  tnis !  If  instruction 
were  at  all  necessary,  I  should  be  of  (pinion,  that 
this,  as  all  other  actions  of  life,  should  be  reeulated 
by  every  man's  ability ;  and  the  philosopher  Lycont 

Srudently  ordered  his  executors  to  dispose  of  his  bo- 
y  where  they  should,  think  most  6t,  and  as  for  his 
funeral,  to  order  it  neither  superfluous,  nor  too 
mean.  For  my  own  part,  I  should  wholly  leave  the 
ordering  of  this  ceremony  to  custom,  i^nd  to  their 
discretion  to.  whose  lot  it  shall  &I1  to  do  me  that  last 
office.  Totus  hie  locus  est  contemnendus  in  nobU,  non 
negligendus  in  nostrisA  The  place  of  our  sepulture 
is  wholly  to  be  contemned  by  us,  but  not  to  be  neg- 
lected by  our  friends  ^  and  it  was  a  holy  saying  ofa 
saint,  Curatiojumris^  conditio  sepulturtBy  pompa  ex^ 
efuiaruniy  magis  sunt  vivorum  solatia^  quam  subsidia. 
mQrtuorum;%    i.  e.  the  care  of  funerals,  the  place  of 

*■  Before  he  iMt^  he  comnanded  hia  son  to  canry  him  to  hm 
sepulchre  oa  the  bare  bed,  without  linen,  purplei  &c.  In  Epitome 
Livianfty  ld>.  sdviii. 

t  Diogenes  Laertius,  in  Lycon's  life>  Ub.  v.  sect.  74,  Edit* 
WeUt.  Amsterdam^  anno  1602. 

i  Cicero  TuscuL  lib.  i.  cap.  45. 

§  August,  de  Cirit.  Dei,  lib.  L  cap*  18. 


aepoiture,  and  the  pomp  of  the  obsequies,  are  rather 
consolations  to  the  living,  than  any  benefit  to  tha 
dead*  From  this  consideration  it  was,  that  when 
Criton  asked  Socrates,  on  his  death  bed,  "  How  be 
♦*  would  be  buried  ?'*  The  philosopher  made  him 
anawer,  "  How  ye  will."*  If  I  was  to  concern  myv 
self  further  about  this  ^f&ir,  I  should  think  it  more 
genteel  to  imitate  those  who  entertain  themselves, 
while  alive,  with  the  ceremony  of  their  own  obse^ 
quies,  and  are  pleased  with  beholding  their  own 
dead  coimtenances  in  marble.  Happy  are  the  men 
who  can  regale  and  gratify  their  senses  by  insensibi* 
lity,  and  live  even  when  they  are  dead ! 

I  am  ready  to  conceive  an  implacable  hatred  cmci  and 
against  all  popular  government  (though  I  cannot  but  *^'"^^^i^^^»^']^ 
think  it  the  most  natural  and  equitable  of  all  others),  Sf 'the  *^" 
so  oft  as  I  call  to  mind  the  injustice  and  inhumanity  A*|j<^n;f«"» 

/»     1  At*  1  •  1  "^  as  to  the 

of  the  Athenians,  who,  without  mercy,  or  once  banai  of 
vouchsafing  to  hear  what  they  had  to  say  for  them«  ****''  ^^^ 
selves,  put  to  death  their  brave  captains,  newly  re- 
turned triumphant  from  a  naval  victory,  which  they 
had  obtained  over  the  Lacedsemonians,  near  the  Ar- 
ginusian  isles  t  (the  sharpest  and  most  obstinate  en- 
gagement which  ever  the  Greeks  fought  at  sea),  for 
no  other  reason  but  that  the  Greeks  followed  their 
blow,  and  pursued  the  advantages  prescribed  them 
by  the  law  of  arms,  rather  than  stay  to  gather  up 
and  bury  their  dead.  An  execution  that  was  yet 
rendered  more  odious,  by  the  behaviour  of  Diome- 
don,  who,  being  one  of  the  condemned  persons,  and 
9  man  of  eniinent  virtue,  both  political  and  military, 
advancing  tp  speak,  after  having  heard  the  sentence 
(tiU  when  he  was  not  allowed  a  peaceable  hearing), 
instead  pf  pleading  his  own  cause,  or  proving  tiie 
ma^iifest  impiety  of  so  cruel  a  sentence,  only  ex- 
l^ressed  a  concjernt:  for  the  safety  of  his  judges,  be^ 

*  Plato's  Pbsdon/ towards  the  end. 

tDiodorus  of  Sicily,  lib.  xiii.  cap.  SL    Tbree  islands  to  {he 
of  that  of  Lesbos. 
%  PioA«ras'«f  Siaify^  Vh.  xiii.  cap.  52. 

C  2 


90  OUR  AFFECTIONS  TOO  FAR  EXTENDED. 

seeching  the  gods  to  convert  this  sentence  to  their 
own  good ;  and  praying,  that,  for  neglecting  to  jJay 
those  vows  that  he  and  his  companions  had  made 
(which  he  also  acquainted  them  with)  in  acknow- 
ledgment for  so  glorious  a  success,  they  might  not 
pull  down  the  indignation  of  the  gods  upon  them  ; 
after  which  he  went  courageously  to  his  execution. 
^jjM»«-  Fortune,  not  many  years  after,  dealt  them  the 
same  bread :  for  Chabnas,  captain-general  of  their 
-naval  forces,  having  ^ot  the  better  of  Pollis,  admiral 
of  Sparta,  about  the  isle  of  Naxos,  totally  lost  the 
fruits  of  his  victory*  (of  very  great  importance  to 
their  ai&irs),  and  lest  he  should  incur  the  misfor- 
tune of  the  Athenian  captains,  he  qhose  to  save  a 
few  bodies  of  his  dead  friends  that  were  floating  on 
the  sea,  which  gave  opportunity  to  a  great  number 
of  his  living  enemies  to  sail  away  in  safety,  who  af- 
terwards made  them  pay  dear  for  this  unseasonable 
superstition. 

Quieris  quojaceas  post  obitum  loco  f 
Quo  non  natajacent.f 

Dost  ask  where  thou  shalt  lie  when  dead? 
With  those  that  ne'er  yet  being  had. 

This  other  passage  restores  the  sense  of  repose  to'  a 
body  without  a  soul : 

Nieque  sepulcrufn,  quo  redpiaiy  habeat  portum  corporis :  idn, 
remissa  humana  vita,  corpus  requiescai  a  malis.X 
Nor  with  a  tomb  as  with  a  haven  blest, 
Where,  after  life,  the  corpse  in  peace  may  rest. 

Just  SO  nature  demonstrates  to  us^  that  several^ 
dead  things  still  retain  an  occult  relation  to  life. 
Wine  changes  in  cellars,  according  to  the  changes  of 
tlie  seasons  of  the  vine  from  whence  it  came ;  and  the 
flesh  of  venison  is  said  to  alter  its  condition  in  the 
powdering-tub,  and  to  vary  its  taste,  according  ta 
the  reasons  of  the  living  flesh  of  its  kind. 

♦  Diodorus  of  Sicily,  lib.  xv.  cap.  9. 

f  Seneca  Tr.  Chor.  ii.  ver.  30.       X  Cioeio  Tuscul.  lib.  L  cq),  H. 


BOW  THE  SOUL  DISCHiJtOES  ITS  PASSIONS.  91 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Haw  the  Saul  discharges  its  Passions,  upon  false  Ob- 
jectSj  when  the  true  are  wanting. 

A.  GENTLEMAN  ofmy  country,  who  was  frequent-* 
\y  tormented  with  the  gout,being  often  importuned  by 
his  physicians  to  abstain  from  salt  meats,  used  to  re- 
ply merrily,  That  therq  was  a  necessity  for  his  having  The  moi 
something  to  auarrel  with  in  the  extremity  of  hisJJJJi^*^ 
pain,  i^nd  that  ne  fancied,  that  sometimes  railing  at,j««»ft"^»M 
and  cursing  the  Bologna  sausages,  at  other  times  t^SS"' 
ihe  dried  tongues,  and  the  gammpn,  was  some  mi-  *"[*  •' 
tigation  of  it.     And  in  truth,  as  we  are  chagrined  if   **' 
the  arm  which  is  advanced  to  strike  misses  the  mark, 
and  spends  itself  in  vain  ;  and  as  also,  that  to  make 
a  prospecjt  pleasant,  the  sight  should  not  be  lost  and 
dilated  jn  the  sether,  but  have  some  bounds  to  limit 
it  at  a  reasonable  dists^nce ; 

Ventus  u{  amttit  vireSf  nisi  robore  detw 
Occwrant  sylvce,  spqtio.  4iffusUs  inani.* 

As  winds  exhaust  th^  strength,  unless  withstood 
By  some  thick  grove  of  strong  opposing  wood. 

In  like  manner  it  i^ears,  that  the  soul,  being  agi-^ 
tated  and  discomposed,  «  lost  in  itself,  if  it  has  not 
something  to  encounter  with,  and  therefore  always 
requires  an  object  to  aim  at,  and  ke^  it  emploved. 
Flutareh  says  very  well  of  those  who  are  fond  of  hpA 
dogs  and  monkeys,  that  the  amorous  part  whidti  is  / 
in  us,  for  want  of  a  xk^  ol^ect,  rather  than  lie  idle>       ^ 
does,  in  a  manner,  forge  m  t^e  fancy  one  that  is 
false  and  frivolous.    And  we  see  that  the  soul,  in  ' 
the  exercise  of  its  passions,  rather  deceives  itself  by 
creating  a  false  and  fantastical  subiect,  i^yei^  contrary 
to  its  own  belief,  than  not  to  nave  something  to 
work  upon.    Afler  this  manner  brute  beasts  spen^ 

•  Lvcan,  \ib,  ill  ver*  S62i  365^ 


2S  natr  i^  iimjh 

their  fiiry  upon  the  stone  or  weapon  that  has  hurt 
them,  and  are  ready  to  tear  themselves  to  pieces  fop 
the  injury  they  havTe  received  from  another : 

Pannonis  haud  aliter  post  ictutn  savior  ursa 
Cuijactdum  parva  Lybis  amentavit  halena^ 
Se  rotat  in  vulnus,  tetufnque  irata  recepinm 
Jmpetit,  et  semm  fugientem  circuit  hasiamJ^ 

So  fierce  the  bear,  made  fiercer  by  tbe  smart 
Of  the  bold  Lyblan's  moital*wounding  dart, 
l\irns  round  upoii  the  wound,  and  the  tough  spear 
Contorted  o'er  her  breast  does  flying  bear. 

ifankind's  Wl;iat  causes  ojf  the  misfortunes  that  be&ll  us  do 
thlfa^a?  we  not  ourselves  invent  ?  'What  is  it  that  we  do  not 
nimate  for  blame,  Tiffht  or  wroug,  that  we  may  have  something 
S?  thrfT^^  to  quarrel  with  ?  Those  beautiful  tresses,  young  la* 
passioni.  ^y^  which  you  tear  off  by  handfuls,  are  no  way  guil- 
ty y  nor  is  it  the  whiteness  of  that  bosom,  which  you 
Sfnite  with  so  much  indignation  and  cruelty,  that 
with  an  unlucky  bullet  has  killed  your  dear  brother : 
quarrel  with  something  else.  Livy,  speaking  of  the 
Roman  army  in  Spain,  says,  that  for  the  loss  of  two 
brothers,  their  great  captains,  Flere  omnes  repentCj 
et  offensare  capita  \\  all  wept,  and  beat  their  fore-r 
heads :  but  this  is  a  common  practice.  And  the  phi- 
losopher Bion  said  pleasantly  of  the  king  who  pluck-^ 
ed  off  the  hair  of  lits  head-  for  sorrow,  ^  Does  this 
^*  man  think  that  baldness  is  a  remedy  for  gridf  ?''t 
Who  has  not  seen  game^rs  bite  and  gnaw  th^  cards, 
and  swallow  the  dice  in  tevenge  for  dbe  loss  of  their 
HiTiney  ?  Xenpes  lashed  the  sea^  and  wrote  a  cha!? 
lenge  to  Mount  Athosi§  Cyrus  set  a  whole  aim^ 
several  daysN  at  'work,  to  reVenge  himteif  on  t]ie  n- 


*  Imam»  H).  vi,  ver. 

+  Livy,  Dec.  III.  lib.  v.    Luc.  lib.  >xv.  cap.  37f 

I  Cic.  Tusc.  Quaest.  lib.  iii.  cap.  26.  ' 

5  ttetoActt.  lib.  vn.  p.  *5fi. 
«  ^1  ibicL  Ifti.  i.  p.  86»  87,  land  Sea^  dc^  IkB,  Kbw  iii.  cqp.  21. 
Ilerodotua  8«y8  kxprefslj,  thut  C vn^s  ipcaDt  ^  whole  siininier  about 
this  fine  expedition.  And  Paiu  Orosius,  who  is  as  incorrect  as 
Montaigne,  though  in  a  contrary  sense,  says,  that  Cyrus  eniploye4 
|dl  his  troops  on  this  work  a  idiole  y^at*,  ptrpeti  'unno^  lib.  iL  cap.  6.' 


miimmff»  Its  ^AMitttn.  9 

vfer  Giridu*,*  ibr  the  iright  it  had  put  him  in  when 
he  was  passing  *<yvef  it ;  and  Caligula  demolished  a 
Very  beautiftd  pldace,t  for  the  eonfinement  his  mo- 
ther  had  there. 

I  Tcmember  there  w;a8  a  stoiy  when  I  was  a  boy,^»p«*'- 
fliat  one  of  our  neighb^iing  kings,  having  been^^^k^j*^ 
cmitten  by  the  httnd  of  CJtoo,  swore  he  would  be  re* 
^nged;  and  he  or^ed  a  proclamation,  that,  for 
ten  yeai^  to  come,  no  pet^on  in  his  donrinipns  should 

Era^  to  him,  or  so  much  as^menticm  Kim,  or  even' 
elieve  in  him :  by  which  we  are  not  so  much  to 
take  measure  of  the  fbUy,  as  i^f  4he  vain^gldnr  pecu-* 
liar  to  the  nation  of  wluch  this  story  was  tQld.  They 
are  vices,  indeed,  that  always  go  together,,  but  such 
actions  as  these  have  more  of  temerity  in  them  than 
of  [Stupidity.  Augustus  Cq^sar,  having  been  tossed 
with  a  tempest  at  sea,t  fell  to  defying  the  god  Nep- 
tune, and,  in  the  pomp  of  the  Circensian  games,  to 
be  revenged^  deposed  bis  BteitR^  from  the  place  it 
had  amongst  the  other  deities.  In  this  he  was  less 
dxcusaMe  than  in  the^^mer,  and  less  >too  than  he 
was  aflerwards,  when,  tatving  .lost  a  battle  under 
Quintilius  Varus  in  Germany,  he  rayed  like  a  HHid^ 
man,  and  sometimes  ran  his  head  against  the  waUi^ 
pi;ymg  out,  *♦  0  Varus,  give  me  my  legiow  again!"$ 

'«  Or  Gyndm,  I^^  bb  HeMotus  dal^  It   '  S^emi  ati4  Tibuihui| 
}Sb*  iv.  eann.  i.  ver.  141.-«^apM^ti^  Cvri  dementia^  O^fttdes. 

f  Seneca  de  Ira,  lib^  iii.  c»  22»    Cigsar  villam  in  Herculanenn 
mdcherrimdm^  quia  sua  mater  aliquando  in  iUa  custodUa  erat^  diruitf 
I.  e.  GaesoF  deittdiyied  tim  nf^t  oeautHiil  city  in  th^  Herculfinemn, 
becftUse  his  mother  wfis  oaoe  impH^aiiied  in  it.    I  quciftti^n  'vrhettsSF- 
M<mtaigiie  rightly  uiidefitaod  SeniBea'B  n^e^ning;  oiv  I  inu^pn^i 
that  in8t$94  of  jJaisir^.he  wou}d  haye  iifie4  the  wcu^  deplaisir,  be- 
cause it  agrees  perfectly  v^ll  wiYh  idi&t  Senate  gftyg,  *<  of  her  haV*i 
^  ifig  been  conmied  there  as  in  a]^isoB.**    In'one  df'ihe  first  edio  . 
ttcms  i3t  the  Esaojto  ia  ftenmh^fdaurr  was»  by  inivlmtenoy,  printodl  I 
iBstead  of  deplaidr^  wluch  mistaj^e  was 'from  tlience  continued  a    f 
idl  the  fiueceeding  editions;  at  least,  it  is  the 'same  iq  all  that  Lhave   | 
Been  Ahs to  covf^;  andfiEVih  idience  Mr.  Cotton  used  the ^ifAj 
pleasure. 

%  SuetoninSy  in  the  life  of  Augustiiiy  sect.  1^ 

^  6uetoflMi,  ftid.  «eclr  9»^ 


l^or  theirs  exceeded  all  foUy^  becaufle  it  was  attend*- 
ed  with  impiety,  by  carping  at  Gap  himRelf,  or  at 
lea9t  at  fortune,  as  if  she  had  ears  to  be  dinned  with 
our  complaints ;  like  the  Thracians,*.  who,  when  it 
thunders  or  lightens,  fall  to  shooting  against  Heaven 
ijirith  Titanian  vengeance,  as  if  by  flights  of  arrows 
they  thought  to  r^uce  the  Deity  to  reason.  Now 
as  the  ancient  poet  in  Plutarch  tells  us,  in  his  treatise 
of  contentment,  or  the  peace  of  the  mind,  chap.  4. 
of  Amyot's  translation, 

Poini  fie  se  faut  cawmmcer  aux  affaires: 
II  ne  leur  ckaut  de  toutes  nos  chderes. 

We  must  not  rave  at  Heaven  in  our  affidrs, 
Whidi  finr  ouf  indignadon  oodiing  cares. 

lSi\\t  we  can  never  enough  condemn  our  unruly  pas- 
sions. 


CHAPTlBR  V. 


Whether  the  Gwemor  of  a  Place  besieged  ought- 
himself  to  go  out  to  parley. 

JUUCIUS  MarciuSjt  the  Roman  Legate,  in  the 
war  against  Perseus,  king  of  Macedon,  in  order  to 
gain  time  for  putting  his  army  into  a  good  conditicm, 
set  on  foot  some  overtures  of  accommodation,  with 
which  the  king,  being  lulled  asleep,  concluded  a  ces- 
sation for  a  certain  number  of  days,  thereby  giving 
his  enemy  opportunity  and  leisure  to  strengthen  their 
army,  which  prove4  his  own  final  ruin;  yet  the 
elder  sort  of  senators,  mindful  of  their  forefathers' 
customs,  condemned  this  proceeding,  as  injurious 
to  their  ancient  practice,  which,  they  said,  was  to 
tto^  ??*"  %^'  ^y  ^^^^  valour,  and  not  by  stratagem,  sur* 


*  Herodot.  lib.  iv.  cap.  289. 

t  Titus  Livy  calls  him  Quintus  Maicchu,  lib.  xiii.  oq>.  37«  &^^ 


OUGHT  TO  QO  OUT  TO  PARLEY.  2S 

pmnting  both  the  hour  and  place  of  battle.  Out  of 
this  honest  principle  it  was,  that  they  sent  back  to 
Pyrrhus  liis  treacherous  physician,  and  to  the  He- 
trurians  their  disloyal  schoolmaster.  And  this  Avas 
indeed  a  conduct  truly  Roman,  without  any  mixture 
of  the  Grecian  subtlety,  or  the  Punic  cunning,  with 
who^  it  waa  reputed  not  so  honourable  to  overcome 
by  force  as  by  fraud.  The  latter  may  be  of  service 
for  once,  but  he  only  reckons  himself  fairly  over- 
come,  who  knows  he  is  subdued  neither  by  policy, 
nor  chance,  but  by  mere  dint  of  valour,  hand  to 
hand,  in  a  £dr  and  generous  battle.*  And  it  is  plain^ 
by  the  language  ofthese  good  old  senators,  that  this 
fine  sentence  was  not  yet  admitted  amongst  them, 

r^f^-Dolus  an  virtus  quis  in  hoste  requiratf\ 
All  arts  arc  lawful  that  defeat  a  foe. 

The  Achaians,  says  Polybius,  abhorred  all  manner 
of  fraud,  not  reputing  it  a  victory,  unless  where  the 
courage  of  the  enemy  was  fairly  quelled.  Earn  vir 
mnctus  et  sapiens  sciet  veram  esse  vicioriamj  qua 
salva  Jidej  et  Integra  di^nitate  parabitur.t  An 
honest  and  a  wise  man  will  allow  that  only  to  be  a 
true  victory  which  is  obtained  without  breach  of 
£uth,  or  stain  of  honour.     Another  says, 

Viisne  velitj  an  me  regnare  kera,  qwdveferat  ftn-Sj 
Virtute  experiamur.^' 

In  brave  contention  let  us  fight,  to  know 

On  whom  dajme  Fortune  wiU  the  palm  bestow. 

In  the  kingdom  of  Temate,  the  chief  of  the  Mo-  a  people 
lucca  islands,  amongst  those  people  whom  we  so^^J^ 
roundly  call  !Qarbarians,  they  have  a  custom  never  «>««.  ^itii- 
to  commence  w?^r  till  it  be  first  proclaimed ;  adding  ^"oo^SJT 
withal,  an  ample  declaration  of  what  means  are  in  ^^^^ 
their  power  to  carry  it  on,  with  what,  and  how  many* 
mjen,  what  ammunition,  and  what  arms,  both  ofien- 

*  Liv.  lib.  xiy.  cap.  4S,  47.  t  -*neid,  lib.  ii.  ver.  390- 

%  FloruSf  lib.  i.  cap.  12. 

}  Eiinius  apod  Cicero,  lib.  i.  de  Offic  cap.  12, 


sive  and  ddensivc ;  but  thkt  being  donfe,  they  after- 

\frards  conceive  it  lawful  to  employ,  without  reproach, 

any  means  that  may  best  conduce  to  their  success  in 

The  Ro-   the  war.    The  ancient  t'lorentines  wtre  so  fiir  from 

J!^*uIiLei!  Peeking  any  advantage  over  their  eftemies  by  stir* 

war  by     t)rize,  that  they  always  gave  them  a  month's  wartimg 

toiunga    before  they. drew  their  army  into  the  field,  by  Ifete 

(continual  tolling  of  a  bell  they  called  Martinella, 

As  for  us  who  are  not  so  scrupulous  in  this  affair, 

and  who  attribute  the  glory  of  a  battle  to  him  wfco 

has  the  better  of  it,  and  Who  say  with  Lysander,* 

**  Where  the  lion'^s  skin  is  too  short,  we  mtirt  eke  it 

Themmt  **  out  with  the  fox*s  casc;"   the  mdst  common  oc* 

u^OTg^*'*"Gasi6ns  of  surprise  are  derived  froAi  this  practice, 

publicly    and  we  hold,  that  there  are  no  moments  in  which 

ril^      the  general  ought  to  be  more  upon  his  gtAard,  than 

those  of  parleys  and  treaties  of  accommodation.    It 

is  therefore  become  a  general  maxim  in  these  times, 

iJiat  a  governor  of  a  place  never  ought,  in  a  time  of 

siege,  to  go  out  to  parley.     It  was  for  this  reason 

that,  in  our  ancestors*  days,  Messieurs  de  Motitmard 

and    d'Assigni  were  so  highly  censured  in  theif 

defence  of  Mouson  against  the  count  de  Nassati  j 

yet  in  this  case  it  would  be  e:ftcusable  in  that  goyer^ 

nor,  who,  if  he  went  oiit,  should  take  care  that  the 

safety  and  advantage  should  be  on  his  side^  as  count 

Guide  (Je  Rongoni  did  at  Reggio  (if  we  may  believe 

Bellay,  for  Gucciardine  say  it  was  he  himself)  when 

Mons.  'de  TEscut  advanced  to  parley,  who  stepped 

so  little  a  way  from  his  fort,  that  a  dkorder  happen^ 

ing.in  the  interim  of  ihe  parley^  not  only  Mons.  da 

TEscut  and  his  party,  who" were  advanced  with  him, 

found  themselves  by  much  the  weaker  (insomuch 

that  Alessandro  de  Trivulcio  was  there  slain),  but 

he  himself  was  compelled,  as  the  safest  way,  to  foL 

low  the  count,  and  rely  upon  his  .honour,  to  shelter 

himself  from  the  shot  within  the  very  walls  of  the 

town.    Eumenes,  being  shut.u{)  in  the  city  of  Nora 

*  See  his  life  by  Kutai'ch,  eh^.  4,  translated  by  Amyi^  - 


OUGHT  T0  Gtt  OlTT  M  PARLEY.  #|f 

by  Antigonus,*  and  by  him  importuned  to  come  out 

to  hold  a  parley  with  him,  ad  he  ^ent  him  word,  it 

was  fit  he  should  to  a  greater  and  better  man  than 

himself,  and  one  who  had  now  an  advantage  over 

him,   he  returned  him   thib  noble  answer,  ^^  Tell 

"  him,**  said  he,  **  that  I  shall  never  ihifik  any  man 

*•  better  than  myself,  whilst  I  wear  a  sword ;"  and 

he  would  not  consent  to  go  Out  to  him,  till,  acccMrd-* 

ing  as  he  demanded,  Antigonus  had  delivered  hkn 

his  own  nephew  Ptolomeus  in  hostage.    And  yet 

srnne  have  fai'ed  very  #ell  in  going  out  to  hold  a 

^rley  with  the  besieger.     Witness  Henry  de  Vaux, 

a  gentleman  of  Champagne,  who  being  besieged  in 

the  castle  of  Commerdy  by  the  English,  under  the 

command  of  Bartholomew  de  Bonnes,!  who  had  so 

sapped  most  of  the  out-Works  of  the  castle,  thsk 

nothing  reifiained  but  slating  fire  to  the  mine^  to 

bury  the  besieged  under  the  ruins,  he  requested  the 

said  Heniy  to  come  out  to  hold  a  parley  with  him 

for  his  owtl  good ;  which  Henry  doing  accordingly^ 

with  three  mote  in  company,  and  his  evident  ruin 

being  made  apparent  to  him,  be  thought  himself 

singularly  obliged  to  the  enemy,  tb  whom  he  sur* 

rendered  with  his  garrison  at  discretion,  and  then 

fire  being  applied  to  the  mine,  the  props  immediately 

fell,  and  the  castle  was  blown  up,  so  that  not  one 

sto^e  was  left  upon  another.    1  am  very  ready  to 

give  credit  to  the  faith  of  another  person,  but  I 

should  be  very  loth  to  do  it  in  a  case^  where  it 

should  be  supposed  I  did  it  rather  from  despair,  and 

watft  of  courage,  than  voluntarily,  and  from  a  com 

fidencfe  in  the  sincerity  of  the  person  with  whom  I 

bad  to  do. 

f  Hutarch's  li£g  of  Euraenes,  cap.  5. 

t  Vol  i.  ch.  209.    Froiasart,  from  whom  Montaigne  relate!  ihm^ 
fBUB  him  Bartholoinetir  de  Brones. 


M  THE  TIME  OF 

CHAPTER  VI. 

The  Time  of  Parleys  dangerous. 

Y  ET  I  lately  observed  that  at  Mussidan,  in  mf 
neighbourhood,  those  who  were  drove  out  of  it  by 
our  army,  complained,  with  others  of  their  party, 
that,  during  a  treaty  of  accommodation,  and  m  the 
very  interim  that  the  deputies  were  treating,  they 
were  surprised  by  treachery,  and  cut  to  pieces  :  a 
&ct  which,  perhaps,  in  another  age,  might  have  been 
coloured  over ;  but,  as  I  said  before,  the  custom  of 
war  in  these  days  is  quite  different,  and  there  is  now 
no  confidence  to  be  placed  in  an  enemy,  till  after 
the  last  seal  of  obligation ;  and  even  then  there  is 
danger  enough ;  so  hazardous  a  thing  it  is,  and  ever 
was,  to  trust  the  observation  of  the  faith  engaged 
to  a  town  which  capitulates  upon  easy  and  favour- 
able terms,  to  the  licentiousness  of  a  victorious  army, 
and  to  give  soldiers  free  entrance  into  it  in  the  heat 
The  faith  of  blood.  Lucius  iSmilius  Regillus,  a  Roman 
^""^^'^  praetor,  having  lost  time  in  attempting  to  take  the 
Mcertftrn.  city  of  Phocopa  by  force,  by  reason  of  the  singttloF 
valour  wherewith  the  inhabitants  defended  them- 
selves, conditioned  at  last  to  receive  them  as  friends 
to  the  people  of  Rome,  and  to  enter  the  town  as 
into  a  confederate  city,  securing  them  fcom  the  fear 
of  any  hostility  :*  but  having,  for  the  greater  pomp, 
brought  bis  whole  army  in  with  him,  it  was  not  m 
his  power,  with  all  his  endeavour,  to  restrain  his 
men  :  so  that  avarice  and  revenge  being  too  hard  for 
his  authority,  and  for  the  military  disoipline,  he  saw 
a  considerable  part  of  the  city  pillaged  before  hfa 
face.  Cleomenes  used  to  say,  "  That  what  mischief 
".  soever  a  man  could  do  his  enemy  in  time  of  war 
**  was  above  justice,  and  that  he  M:as  not  account? 
"  able  for  it  in  the  sight  of  the  gods  and  men." 
And  having  concluded  a  truce  with  those  of  Argot 

•  Livy,  lib.  xxxviL  cs^.  82t 


for  seven  clays,  he  fell  upon  them  the  third  night 
after,  when  they  were  all  in  a  profound  sleep,  and  . 
put  tiiem  to  the  sword,  alleging  for  his  excuse,  that 
m  the  truce  there  was  no  menticm  of  nightis ;  but  the 
gods  punished  his  perfidy. 

In  a  time  of  parley  also,  and  while  the  citizens 
thought  themselves  very  secure,  the  citypf  Cassilinum 
was  taken  by  surprise,  and  that  too  in  the  age  of  the 
justest  captains,  and  when  the  discipline  of  the 
Roman  militia  was  in  its  perfection  :  for  it  is  not  said, 
that  it  is  not  lawful  for  us,  at  a  proper  time  and  place, 
to  make  an  advantage  of  our  enemies'  want  of  under- 
standing, as  well  as  their  want  of  courage.  And, 
doubtless,  war  has  naturally  a  great  many  privileges 
that  are  justifiable  even  to  the  prejudice  of  reason. 
And  therefore  here  the  rule  fails,  Neminem  id  agere 
ut  ex  alteriiis  pradetur  imcitia.*  That  no  one 
should  make  an  advantage  of  another's  folly.  But  I 
am  astonished  at  the  great  liberty  allowed  in  such 
cases  by  Xenophon,  in  his  Cyropffidia,  and  that  both 
by  the  determinations  and  the  several  exploits  of  his 
complete  emperOr.  He  is  an  author,  1  confess^  of 
mucn  weight  in  those  afiairs,  as  being,  in  his  own 
person,  both  a  great  captain,  and  a  philosopher  of  the 
first  form  of  the  disciples  of  Socrates ;  but  I  cannot 
come  into  such  a  latitude  as  he  dispenses  with  in  all 
things  and  places.  Monsieur  d' Aubigny,  having  be- 
sieged Capua,  and  played  a  furious  battery  against  it, 
signior  Fabricio  Colonna,  governor  of  the  town, 
having  begun  to  hold  a  parley  from  one  of  the  bas- 
tions, and  his  soldiers,  in  the  mean  time,  being  less  on 
their  guard,  our  men  took  ity  and  put  all  to  the  sword. 
And  of  later  memory,  at  Yvoy,  signior  Juliano 
Rommino,  having  been  such  a  novice  as  to  go  out  to 
hold  a  p^ley  wi^  the  constable,  at  his  return  found 
the  place  taken^  But  that  we  might  not  go  unre- 
venged,  the  marquis  de  Pescaro,  having  laid  siege  to 
Genoa,  where  duke  Octavio  Fregosa  commanded 

*  Cicerp  de  Offic*  lib.  iii.  cap.  17. 


Qndc^  our  protection,  when  the  actides  of  oapitiiilii- 
tion  were  so  far  advanced,  that  it  was  looked  upon 
as  good  as  concluded,  several  Spaniards,  being  slipped 
m%  made  use  of  this  treachery,  as  an  absolute  vic- 
tory. And  since  that  time,  at  Ligny  in  the  Barrois^ 
where  the  count  de  Brienne  conunanded,  the  em- 
peror having  besieged  it  in  person,  and  Bertheville^ 
the  said  count's  lieutenant,  going  out  to  hdd  a  par- 
]bey,  whilst  he  waa  capitulating,  the  town  wa^  taken* 
They  say, 

Fu  U  vittcer  sempre  max  UfudalM  cosoy 
Vincasi  d  perforturui,  q  per  ingegno.* 
That  conquest  ever  was  a  ^orious  thing,  .  ^ 
Which  way  soe'er  the  conqu'ror  purclias'd  k. 
Whether  it  was  by  fortune,  or  by  yrit. 

But  the  jAilosopher  Chrysippua  was  not  of  this 
opinion,  nor  I  heartily ;  for  he  said,t  That  he  whQ 
runs  a  race,  ought  to  exert  all  his  strength  in  spe^ ; 
but  that  it  is  by  ho  means  fair  in  him  to  lay  hand 
upon  his  adversary,  to  stop  him,  or  to  set  a  leg 
before  him  to  throw  him  down.      And  yet  more 

fenerous  was  the  answer  of  the  great  Alexander  tp 
Wypercon,  when  he  persuaded  him  to  take  advan- 
tage of  the  darkness  of  the  night  to  fall  upon  D^ 
rius :  By  no  means,  said  he ;  I  do  not  want  to  steal 
a  victory,  I  had  rather  be  sorry  for  my  fortune,  than 
ashamed  of  my  victory.t 

jltque  idemfugientem  haud  est  dignaius  Orodem 
SternerCf  nee  jacta  caecum  dare  cuspide  vtdnus  : 
Obvius  adversoque  occurrit^  seque  viro  vir 
Contulii ;  haudfurtOTnelior^  sedfortilms  amus,^ 

His  heart  disdain'd  to  strike  Orodes  dead. 

Or  in  his  back  to  stab  him  as  he  fled. 

Then  with  disdain  the  haughty  victor  Ticw'd 

Orodes  flying,  nor  the  wretch  pursu'd : 

Nor  thouglit  the  dastard's  back  deserved  a  wound. 

But  hast'ning  to  o'ertake  liim,  gain'd  the  giiound  • 

Then,  turning  short,  he  met  him  face  to  foce. 

To  give  his  victory  the  better  grace. 

♦  Arioato,  cant.  xv.  ver.  1,2.        f  Cicero  de  OfBc  lib.  iii.  cap.  10. 
X  Quint  Curtius.  lib*  iv.  cap.  IS.  f  iEoeid.  lib.  x.  ver.  752. 


UrrSVTlOW  TH£  T£ST  OF  ACTIONS* 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Th(U  ^^r  Actionf  are  0  l^  Judged  by*  the  Intention, 

XT  is  a  common  sayiQg»  *^  That  death  disGhi^rge^  m  i"  wiat 
"of  aUour  obligations."  Yet  I  know  some  th»tSl;"* 
have  taken  it  in  another  se^se.  Henry  VII.  kiog  c^^ottM. 
England,  articled  with  Don  Philip,  son  to  Maximir  uom  "'*** 
lian  the  emperor,  or  to  ^ve  him.  the  more  honour- 
able appellation^  father  to  the  emperor  Charles  V. 
that  the  s^d  Philip  shoul4  deliver  up  to  hiin  his 
enemy,  the  duke  of  SuJSUk,  of  the  Wliite  Rose,  who 
ha4  taken  refine  in.  the  Netherlands,  and  promised 
that,  Hpon  such  surrender  of  him,  he  would  attempt 
wthiqg  against  the  said  duke's  life,  in  which  he  was 
W  good  as  his  word,  but  when  he  came  near  to  his 
latter  end,  he  enjoined  his  scm^  by  his  last  will  and 
testament,  to  put  him  to  dieath  immediately  after  his 
decease.  And  lately,  in  the  tragedy  which  the  duke 
of  Alva  {Mresented  to  us  at  Brussels,  in  the  persons 
q£  the  counts  of  Horne  and  Egmont,  there  were 
many  very  remarkable  passages,  one  of  which  was, 
that  the  said  count  of  Egmont  (upon  the  security  of 
whose  word  and  honour  the  count  of  Horne  sun- 
rendered  himself  to  the  duke  of  Alva)  eifiirhestlj 
^itreated  that  he  miffht  first  mount  the  scadoJd,  tp 
the  end  that  his  deatE  might,  disengage  him  from  his 
obligation  to  the  coujat  Horne.  In  tins  case,  me« 
thinks,  deadi  did  not  acquit  the  king  of  his. engage- 
ment^and  the  count  of  I^mont  was  acquitted  of  ms, 
even  though  he  had  not  died.  We  cannot  be  bound 
beyond  our  abilities:  and  because  the  effects  and 
performances  are  pot  in  our  power,  and  as  in  truth 
there  is  nothing  in  our  power  but  the  will^  it  is  on 
this  that  all  the  rules  of  man's  duty  are  necessarily 
founded  and  establised.  Thus  the  count  of  Egmont, 
thinking  his  soul  and  will  bound  to  his  promise. 


S«  tNTENTlON  THE  TEST  OF  ACTIOKS^ 

though  he  had  not  the  pow^r  to  make  it  good,  had 
doubtless  been  absolved  of  his  obligation,  even  if  he 
had  outlived  the  count  of  Home.     But  the  king  of 
England,  breaking  his  faith  by  previous  intention, 
could  ho  more  excuse  himself  for  deferring  the  ex- 
ecution of  his  treachery  till  after  his  death,  than 
Herodotus's  mason,*  who,  having  kept  the  treasures 
of  the  king  of  Egypt,  his  sovereign,  inviolably  secret 
in  his  life-time,  discovered  it  at  his  death  to  his 
children. 
Sfttiifkc-       I  have  known  many  persons  in  my  time,  who, 
dMUh^inl'^  being  reproached  by  their  consciences  of  with-hold- 
lisoificaot.  mg  the  property  of  another  person,  have  aimed  i^ 
making  satis&ction  by  their  last  will  and  testament; 
and  aner  their  decease ;  but  they  do  nothing  who 
take  so  much  time  in  so  pressing  an  affidr,  or  who 
think  to  repair  an  injury  with  so  little  compunctioR 
and  expense.      They  owe,    besides,  something  of 
what  they  have  in  their  immediate  possession ;  and 
the  more  they  incommode  themselves,  by  restoring 
what  they  have  unjustly  taken,  the  luster  and  the 
more  commendable  is  their  sati^action ;  for  peni- 
tence requires  penance.     Tliose  do  yet  wowe,  who, 
by  their  last  will,  declare  a  mortal  animosity  against 
their  neighbour,  which  they  had  concealed  in  their 
Kfe-time,  wherein  they  shew  their  little  regard  to 
their  own  honour,  by  irritating  the  person  offended 
against  their  memory ;  and  less  to  their  conscience, 
not  having  the  power,  even  in  respect  to  death,  to 
let  their  malice  «lie  with  them,  but  extending  its  ex- 
istence beyond  their  own.     Unjust  judges,  who  de^ 
fer  judgment  to  a  time  when  they  can  have  no 
knowledge  of  the  cause !   for  my  part,  I  shall  take 
what  care  I  can,  that  my  death  make  no  discoveiy 
of  what  my  life  has  not  first,  declared,  and  that 
publicly. 

*  Herodotus,  lib.  iL  p.  151« 


b^  IDLENESS*  S3 

CHAPTER  VIIL 

Of  Idleness'. 

JilS  we  sBe  some  lands  that  have  lain  Mow,  if  tHd 
soil  is  &t  and  fertile,  produce  innumerable  sorts  of 
wild  herbs  that  are  good  for  notliinj^,  for  want  of 
being  cultivated  and  sown  with  certain  seeds  pro^ 
per  for  our  sendee  ;  and  as  we  ^d  tbat  some 
women  who  have  not. known  men,  do  of  themselves  . 
bring  forth  shapeless  lumps  and  pieces  of  flesh,  and 
that  to  cadsfe  a  proper  and  natliral  gieneration,  it  is 
necessary  to  impregnate  them  with  another  kind  of 
seed :  even  so  it  is  with  our  minds.  Which  if  not  ap* 
plied  to  some  particular  subject  to  check  and  re- 
'strain  them,  rove  about  confusedly  in  the  vague  ex* 
|Muise  of  imagination  t 

Sicut  a'qu{e  trefnidurn  laV^is  uhi  l&nten  ahenis 
Sok  repetcussttnif  out  radiantis  itriigipe  UtncPy 
Omnia  pervolkat  lot}  loca,  jalmque  sub  aura$ 
Erigilur*^  summiquefmiiaqueeriaiectu* 

Thus  translated  by  Mi:.  DaYDEiJ. 

.So  when  the  sun  by  day,  or  moon  by  night,  . 
§Crikes  on  the  polbhed  bnm  their  trembling  lignt^ 
The  glitt'rfn^  species  heire  and  there  divide^ 
jSxA  caist  their  dubious  beams  from  side  to  side; 
Now  on  the  walb,  bow  oh  the  jpe^ement  play> 
And  to  the  ceiling  flalh  the  glaring  day. 

in  which  agitation,   ther^  is  no  fdU^r,  nor  idle 
&ncy,  which  toey  do  not  create : 


^lut  €Pgri  smnia,  varae 


Fingimiur  spedes^-^ 1 

liike  sick  men's  dreams,  d»t  from  a  troubled  braiU 
Phantasms  cr^te^  ridiculous  and  vain. 

The  soul  that  has  no  est«)^lish6d  limit  to  circum- 
ftcribQ  it,  loses  itsetf;  for,  aft  the  epigrammatist  says, 

^  i«neid,  H).  vnL  rer.  22.  f  Hot.  Art.  Pdet.  tcr.  7,  8. 

VOU  I.  D 


94 


Idlraess 
bewilders 
the  mind. 


OF  UARS. 

Quisquis  tihique  halitai,  maxime  nusquam  halitaif 
He  that  is  every  where,  is  no  whtri. 

When  I  lately  retired  to  my  own  house,  with  a 
resolution  to  avoid  all  manner  m  concern  in  afl^rs 
aa  much  as  possible,  and  to  spend  the  small  »e- 
mainder  of  my  life  in  privacy  and  ji6ace,  I  fkncied  I 
could  not  give  my  mind  more  enjoyment,  than  to 
leave  it  at  full  liberty  to  entertain  rest,  and  compose 
itself:  which  I  also  noped  that  it  might  do  the  more 
easily  hencefbrwards,  as  being  by  time  become  moJfe 
settled  and  improved :  but  I  find, 

w,^ variam  semper  dant  otia  mentepi^'f 


-  ■■■■Even  in  tbe  mo$t  retired  states, 
A  UiQUfiapd  Uioughts  an  idle  life  creates. 

-that,  on  the  contrary,  like  a  horse  broke  loose,  which 
runs  away  with  greater  speed  than  the  rider  would 
put  him  to,  it  gives  birth  to  so  many  chimeras^  add 
fantastic  monsters,  one  upon  the  neck  of  another, 
without  order  aqd  design,  that,  for  the  sake  of  sur- 
veying the  folly  and  absurdity  of  them  when  I  list,  I 
have  begun  to  draw  o,  catalogue  of  them,  hoping  in 
time  to  make  my  mind  ashamed  of  itself» 


lti#-MM9 


>  CHAPTER  IX, 

Of  Liar9n 

Mmi-  X  HERE  is  not  ^  man  whom  It  would  so  ill  become 
i^nfo^Ton  t^  l)oast  of  memory  as  myself^  fin*  I  own  I  have 
that  he  has  scarcc  any,  and  do  not  think  that  in  the  world  there 
happy'^mZ  ^^  anothcF  SO  deftctivc  as  mine.  My  other  Acuities 
mory.  arc  all  mean  and  cJommon ;  but  in  this  respect,  I 
l^i^k  my9elf  so^  singular  and  rare;,  as  to  deserve  a 
moFQ  thaa  ordinary  clia^acter^    Besides  the  inccmvt^ 


*  MfiirtiaL  Hb»  vii,  qp.  72. 


\  Lucan.  lib.  iv.  ttr.  70^ 


9rukm  a 

tniMe  I  iuitura%  sttfii^r  from  this  defept  &f  ibemary 
(&F  in  truth,  thc^  fiecesMry  use  of  it  dotiskkred,  Plattf 
might  well  cdl  it  a  griatt  niid  powerful  goddei^s),  in 
my  country,  when  they  would  sigfiiQf  that  a  thm  ii 
void  of  sen^e,  they  slay  that  he  hS^  no  ttiimdry )  and 
when  I  complaiii  of  the  dc^t  of  tuiite,  they  reprovd. 
me,  and  do  not  think  I  mi  in  eatne^t  by  aecusilig 
myself  for  a  foot  ^  fiir  they  do  not  disdetn  the  difl^ 
rence  betwixt  memory  and  «inde»tanding,  ifr  whioh 
they  make  me  worse  than  I  reallv  am :  lot^  (^  thd 
contrary,  we  rathef  ind^  by  expeitence,  that  a  strolig 
inemory  is  liabk  to  be  aceompafiied  \^th  a  weak 
judgment}  and,  as  I  ac^t  myself  innothiiig  66  well 
as  tihie  &irad,  they  do  me  another  w#6ngin  this  re^ 
spect,  that,  by  the  same  wordd  witfi^  whiDh  they  ac-^ 
case  my  infirmi^,  they  represent  me  a^  uc^teAd* 
They  bring  my  a£fectiaa  into  qikestion  ufdiA  Aecotf nt 
<>f  my  memory,  and  turn  a  natural  imperfection  inttf 
a  bad  conscience.  He  ha^  fbrgot,  say  they,  this 
request,  6r  that  promise ;  he  does  not  remember  his 
iHenda  ^  he  has  fbrgot  to  say,  or  to  conceal  s^h 
a  thing  for  my  sake.  It  Is  triie,  I  am  apt  to  be  foN 
getftil,  but  am  not  indigent  about  any  th^fg  tHiich 
a  friend  has  given  me  in  chargtf^  It  is  enough  that  ' 
I  sufibr  the  miitforttime,  wwiout  being  branded 
with  a  sort  of  malice,  a  vice  so  contrary  to  my  ,na^ 
ture. 

This,  however,  is  my  comfort  i  firdt>  that  It  Is  aiitheiijvana 
evil  from  whieh  prinei^alfy  I  have  found  tdasdn  tOh^^rtrmif 
correct  a  worse,  that  would  have  grown  upon  me^frobiiiis 
namely,  ambition  i  for  this  is  an  intoleral^ o  def«6e  id  '^l^'^^f^^ 
those  who  are  encumbered  with  the  management  of 
public  business.    And  (as  several  exampiM  of  iM 
nkekind,  in  the  progress  of  natufe  demons&ai6)  ih^ 
gsreater  is  this  defect,  I  iSnd  my  other  ftcidties  tke 
Stronger  m  proportion^    I  shotdd  have  been  apt  t^ 
havo  retted  my  undemaAding  and  judMi^t  oft  b^6f 
asen's^  and  have  lazily  Mtfwed  their  fi>otsteps>i«i«h« 
out  exerting  my  own  strength,  had  any  strange  in- 
ventions aikl  opiadons  oetft^rred  to  me,  by  the  help  of 

I>2 


36  OF  hlASSi 

my  memory.    By  this  means  too  I  ain  not  s6  talktU 
tive  ;  for  the  magazine  of  the  memory  is  apt  to  be 
better  stored  with  matter  than  that  of  the  invention  s 
,  and,  had  my  memory  been  good,  I  had,  ere  this^ 
deafened  all  my  friends  by  my  babble ;  for  the  sulv 
jscts  themselves,  by  rousing  tnat  sort  of  talent  which 
I  have^  of  handling  and  applying  them,  wolildhave 
animated  and  spun  out  my  discourses<     It  is  pity^ 
but  it  is  no  less  true,  that  I  have  observed  in  some  of 
my  intimate  friends,  who,  when  their  manories  rc-» 
present  a  thing  to  thenx  entire,  and  as  it  were  in  pre- 
.  «ent  view,  begin  their  story  so  far  back,  and  crowd 
it  with  so  many  impertinent  circumstances,  that,  if 
the  story  be  good  in  itself,  they  spoil  it;  and,  if  it  be 
bad,  you  are  either  to  curse  the  strength  of  their 
memory,  or  the  weakness  of  their  judgment.    It  is 
a  diiScult  matter  to  close  up  a  narration,  and  to  cuC. 
it  short  in  its  career.    Neither  is  there  any  thing  that 
more  discovers  the  strength  of  a  horse^  than  when  it 
makes  a  full  stop  with  a  grace ;  and  of  those  men  who 
talk  pertinently,  I  know  some  who  would,  but  can- 
iiot,  stop  short ;  for,  whilst  they  are  seeking  a  period 
for  the  narration,  they  talk  idly,  and  drawl  out  their 
words  like  men  that  have  scarce  strength  to  utter 
them.^^ld  men  especially,  who  yet  retain  Hie  me- 
mory of  things  past,  but  forget  how  ofiten  they  have 
related  them,  are  dangerous  companions ;  and  I  have 
.. ,         known  very  pleaisant  stories  told  oy  a  man  of  quality, 
that  became  very  nauseous,  by  being  repeated  a  hun* 
dren  times  over  in  the  same  company.,^  The  second 
obligation  I  have  to  this  weak  memory  of  mine  is^ 
that  I  less  remember  the  injuries  done  to  me,  so  that 
(as  the  ancient  said)  I  should  have  a  prompter,  like 
Darius,  who,  that  he  might  not  forget  the  afiront  hd 
.  hud  received  from  the  Athenians,  whenever  he  sat 
down  to  table,  ordered  one  of  his  pages  to  repeat 
three  times  in  bis  ear,  **  Sir,  re<nember  the  Athe- 
nians;"* morepver,  the  places  wldoh  I  revisit^  and 


OF  LIARS.  37^ 

the  books  whieh  I  read  over  again,  always  seem-new 
to  nae. 

It  is  not  witliout  reason  said,  that  he  who  has  not  a  iter 
a  good  memory,  should  never  offer  to  tell  liesl  IbmL^ 
know  very  well,  that  the  grammarians  distinguish  be-««»»»7- 
twixt  an  untruth  and  a  lie,  ami  say,  that  to  tell  an 
untruth  is  to  tell  a  thing  that  is  false,  which  we  our- 
selves however  believe  to  be  true ;  and  that  the  Latin 
word  mentiriy  i.  e.  cantra  mentem  ircj  means  to  go 
and  act  against  the  conscience ;  and  that  therefore 
this  only  touches  those  who  speak  contrary  to  what 
they  know,  who  are  the  persons  I  point  at*  Now 
these  do  either  wholly  invent  a  story  out  of  their  own 
heads,  or  else  mar  and  disguise  one  that  has  a  real 
foundation.  When  they  disguise  and  alter,  by  often 
telling  the  same  story,  they  can  scarce  avoid  con- 
tradicting themselves,  by  reason  that  the  real  fact, 
having  fast  taken  possession  in  the  memory,  and 
being  there  imprinted  by  the  way  of  knowledge  and 
science,  it  will  be  ever  ready  to  present  itself  to  the 
imagination,  and  to  dislodge  falsehood,  which  can- 
not have  so  sure  and  settled  a  footing  tliere  a)s  cer- 
tainty ;  and  because  the  circumstances  which  they 
first  heard,  evermore  running  in  their  minds,  make 
them  forget  those  that  are  forged  or  foisted  in. '  As 
to  what  they  wholly  invent,  forasmuch  as  there  is  no 
contrary  impression  to  give  a  shock  to  their  forgery, 
there  seems  ix)  be  the  less  danger. of  their  tripping; 
and  yet  even  this  also,  by  reason  it,is  a  mere  phan- 
tom, and  not  to  be  laid  hold  of,  is  very  apt  to  escape 
the  memory,  if  it  be  not  very  perfect.  ,  I  have  had 
very  pleasant  experience  of  this,  at  the  expense  of 
such  as  profess  only  to  accommodate  their  discourse 
to  the  business^they  have  in  hand,  or  to  the  humour  of 
the  great  men  with  whom  they  converse;  for  the 
circumstances  to  which  they  are  ready  to  sacrifice 
their  honour  and  conscijsiice^  being  Subject  to  several^ 
changes,  their  language  must  needs  vary  at  the  same 
time ;  from  when(ie  it  happens,  that,  of  the  -same 
thing,  they  tell,  one  man,  it  is  this ;  and  another,  it 


•    by  accident  those  men  compare  notes  upon  informer 
tiiW^  B0  oontrffrjp^  wk^t  MOflimeB  ^  tiiis  iSmi  vt'?. 
J[esid««,  ttlisy  «r9  such  ^1^9  thl^t  this^  Qf|be«  caatr^t 
4i(tt  thftfii9elV9s  5  ft^  wh«|  a  nwfuary  riwd  they  have, 
to  ]?9t*itt  w  inaqy  4i&r€qt  forna^  qs  they  hitve  forgi^ 
UfW  940  md  the  si^fi  subject  I     I  h^v^  blown 
l^y,  in  my  tlm^,  yeiy  imhitioua  of  the  reputaticm 
«^ t]|9  finp  sort  of  wi^dw  J^  but  they  do  not  »ee,  that 
it  th^e  be  a  reputfition  in  it,  it  can  i^sw^  i»  end-  , 
Lying  a  V-     Jp  p^aiQ  trutt|»  Lvipg  is  a  curbed  vic*»    We  axe 
^ce?^^ "  WW  whp  have  no  other  tie  uppn  (Hie  nnother  but  onr 
word.    If  we  cpfi^e^^^  the  horrid  ^omeq^ences  of 
A  lie,  we  ^oul4  pr opecute  it  with  vengeance,  as  the 
DForstof^iines. 
hy\iifi  and     I  perceive  how  absurdly  children  are  usually  cor» 
ni^^two  rected  for  inpocent  ^ults,  a»4  are  made  to  smart  for 
^icel  that  1*^  actions  th^t  ^e  .pf  np  significance  or  conser 
?^'w?auence.    The  ftwHy  ^  lying,  and  what  ia  some- 
prfsied  in  thjpg  pf  ^  IpwoT  foTin,  stubbomiiesa,  s«5m  to  be 
children.   ^^^^  ^^^  ought*  iu  evcry  i^tance,  to  b^  checked 
both  in  theif  inf^cy  and  prpgress,  they  being  vices 
which  are  apt  tp  grow  vf  with  them ;  mdf,  after  the 
tpn^ii?  has  contracted  %  hf^bit  of  lying,  it  13  scarce  to 
bi^  imiigined  how  impossible,  ahoost,  it  is  to  draw  it 
0¥t  of  ^e  ^se  tra<;k  -»  frqip  wh^l^ce  it  opines  to  pasa, 
.that  we  H9  some,  who  are  otherwise  very  honest 
inen,  not  on^  subject,  but  mere  sjaves  to  this  vice. 
X  hftve  an  ho?ie«t  lad  to  my  t^yk^r,  who  I  ne^r 
'h€»rd.  iqpie^k  t^^uth)  not  even  when  it  oaght  have  been 
tP  h^.  advtntqge.    If  falsehood  had^  like  truth,  only 
<»ie  free,  we  should  be  upon  better,  tearms ;  for  we 
shjQuld  then  tak^  the  ooj^itia^y  pf  what  the  Uar  should 
say  for  cei*tain  truth ;  but  the  reverse  c^  tr^iih  has  a 
J^undred  thousand  form^,  and  is  9,  i^eld  without  limits. 
The  Pytnagpreafts  make  good  to  be  certain  wd  finito, 
iV}d9v4»  in^te  2^nd  un^ert^ii^i  there  are  a  thou- 
sand w«ys  tp  nvlss^  Uie  wliite)  aj»d  only  one  to  hit  it. 
jFor  my  pwn  p*rt,  I  ani  not  sjm?e  th4t  I  could  pre- 
yail  with  i»y  ^pnsciepce  to  sg<;i|re  myself  from  mani* 


OF  J^URfC  f9 

fisst'  and  extKmfe  dai^r  by  ah  ini|nideBt  and  sokiaa 
Ue«  One  of  the  ancient  fathers  said,  ^^  That  ^.hadr 
^^better  be  iQ  eompanj  with  a  d<i(f  that  we  Jmov^ 
^^  than  with  a.  man  whose  knguage  we  da  not  under-' 
^^  stand*"  Ut  cx^ternfu^  mn  atiena  ^iV  hominis  vicc.K 
So  that  tvw  persons  of  different  natioafci  are  not  men. 
widi  ri^asrditQ'eaob  other  ^  oc,  as  a^  &reigner,  to  ono 
who  underaianda  nofr^hat  he  says,  cannot  be  said  ta 
supply  the  place  of  a  masu  And  bow  mne^  leas  so^ 
Ciable  ia  £Uae  speaking  than  silence  ? 
.  King  Francia  I^  boasted)  that  be  noBfiktssed  Frah«  An  ambas- 
tiado  Tavema,.  ambassador  of  Francis  SSoxz^  duke^ught  in 
of  Mikiiy  a  man  <^grMt  fame  for  his  eloquence,  by^  i>«  V 
this  means.  T^e  ambassador  had  been  dispatched  ^^'"'"' 
ta  excuse  his  master  to' the  king  for  an  action  of  great 
consequence,  ii^ch  was  this ;  the  king,  in  order  td 
mabttain  some  correspondence  still  in  Italy,  out  of 
which  he  had  been  lately  diiven,  and  partipularly  in 
the  ducby  of  Miian,,  had  thou^t  fit  to  have  a  gen^ 
tlemariy  on  his  behaif,  to  reside  oenslBntly  near  tha 
diuke;  an  ambassador  in  effect,  but  in  appearance  as 
a  private  man^  who  i»etended  to  reside  tWe  fi>r  hid 
own  afl&iA.  The  reason  of  this  was,  that  the  duke^ 
who  depended  mack  more  upon  the  emperor  (at 
a  time  e^eoiaUy  when  he  was  treating  of  a  niar« 
riage  with  hisniece,  daughter  to  the  Idng  of  Denmark,^ 
and  since  dowager  of  l^^nrain),  could  not  be  known 
to  have*,  any  comspondence  or  intelhgeoce  with  usr^i 
without  hdurting  his  interest  considerably*  For  this 
conuQissiona  Miknesegentleman  wasthou^  proper^ 
viz.  one  MerveiUe,  who  was  an  equerry  to  the  lung^ 
Tins  person,  being  dispatched  with  private  creden- 
tials, and  the  instructions  of  ambassador,  besides 
other  lettesrs  of  recommendation  to  the  duke,  in 
&vour  of  His  own  private  concerns,  for  a.  mask  and 

^  This  i^  a  psitage  9vk  of  Pliny»  which  Moi»taigne  hee  imitelc*d  "     .'  ,    .\ 
(o  ftdapl  it  to  his  aentiment.    It  rau  in  Pliny^  Vt  ^enms  aliem 
pene  mm  sit  hominis  vice^  Nat,  Hist.  litf.  vU.  cap,  1.      So  that  two 
persons  of  diiierent  countries  are  not  scarce  men  with  regard  to  one 
anothei* 


4£l  OF  LIARS. 

$L  cloak,  he  staid  so  long  at  the  duke's  court,  that 
the  emperor  took  umbrage  at  it;  which  was  the  oe« 
casion,  as  we  suppose,  of  what  followed  after,  viz. 
that  under  pretence  of  a  murder  by  him  committed, 
his  trial  was  dispatched>  in  two  days,  and  his  hekd 
struck  off  in  the  dead  of  the  night*    The  king  ap« 
plying  to  all  the  princes  of  Christendom,  and  even 
to  the  duke  himself,  to  demand  satis&etion,  Tavema 
^me  to  the  court  of  France  with  a  long  counterfeit 
story,    had  his   audience  at  the  morniDg-cbuncil, 
where,  ^r  the  support  of  his  cause,  he  made  a  plau- 
sible harangue,   concluding,   that  his  master  had 
never  looked  upon  this  Merveilte  for  any  other  than 
a  private  gentleman,  and  his  own  subject,  who  came 
to  Milan  only  about  his  own  affiurs,  and  had  never 
lived  there  in  any  other  character;  absolutely  deny<« 
ing  he  had  ever  heard  that  he  was  one  of  the  king's 
houshold,  or  so  iftuch  as  known  to  his  majesty,  so 
far  was  he  from  taking  him  for  an  ambassador.    The 
king,  in  his  turn,  urging  several  objections  and  ques- 
tions to  him,  and  sifting  him  every  way,  gravelled 
him  at  last,  in  the  circumstance  of  the  execution 
beine  performed  in  the  night,  as  it  were  by  stealth.  ^ 
To  this  the  poor  man,  being  confounded,  made  an- 
swer, in  order  to  show  his  complaisance.  That,  out 
of  respect  to  his  majesty,  the  duke  would  have  been 
very  sorry  that  such  an  execution  should  have  been 
)erfarined  in  the  day-time.     Any  one  may  imagine 
low  he  was  reprimanded  when  he  ca^e  home,  ibr 
laving  so  grossly  prevaricated  with  a  prince  of  so  nice 
9.  discernment  as  king  Francis. 
Anotbor        Pppc  Julius  II.  haviug  sent  an  ambassidor  to  the 
dor**ca!^ht  king  of  England  to  animate  him  against  king  Francis, 
in  a  mib-    the  amhassador,  having  had  his  audience,  and  the 
Henry^     1^^'  ^^  hi^  answer  observing  the  diffloulties  that 
yiii.  kin^n^uld  attend  the  making  such  preparations  as  Would 
uJd? ^*     be  absolutely  necessary  to  cope  with  so  powerfu)  a 
kingy  and  mentioning  some  reasons,  the  amba&ador 

♦  BeUay's  ^leraoirs,  lib.  iv.  fol.  153,  &c.  Edit,  of  Paris^  157$^    . 


OF  REA0IKE8S  OR  SLOWNESS  IS  SPEECH.  4fl 

absurdly  replied,*  That  he  himself  had  also  con- 
sidered them,  and  had  indeed  mentioned  them  to  the 
Pope*  This  speech,  so  different  from  his  errand, 
which  was  to  push  a  war,  ^ve  the  king  of  England 
the  first  glimpse  of  a  col^cture,  which  was  after- 
wards verified,  that  the  said  ambassador  was  in  his 
heart  a  friend  to  France ;  of  whidi  the  king  of  Eng- 
land having  advertised  the  pope,  his  estate  was  coq«» 
:6scated,  apd  he  had  like  to  have  suffered  deaths 


CHAPTER  X. 


Of  Readitie9$  or  Slowness  in  Speech. 

One  ne  Jurent  h  tous  toutes  graces  donnceri 

J.  HUS  we  see,  as  to  the  gift  of  eloquence,  some 
have  a  facility  and  readiness  of  speech,  and  that 
which  is  termed  a  quick  ddiveiy,  so  fluent,  that  they 
are  never  at  a  pause;  and  othei^s  there  are^  slow  of 
speech,  who  never  utter  a  sentence  but  what  has 
been  laboured  and  premeditated. 

As  the  diversions  and  exercises  of  the  ladies  are 
so  regulated,  as  to  make  the  best  display  of  their 
greatest  beauty,  so  in  these  two  diiS^rent  advantages 
of  eloquence,  of  which  the  preachers  and  lawyers  of 
our  age  seem  to  be  the  chief  professors,  if  my  opi- 
nion was  to  be  taken,  I  should  think  the  slow,  speaker  iv  Atm 
would  be  more  proper  for  the  pulpit,  and  the  other  JJ^^^^J^  * 
for  the  bar;  because  the  preacher's  junction  allows prracfa«r. 

*  Erasmus,  in  a  book  of  his  called  Lingua^  mentions  this  fact,  as 
9  thing  that  happened  while  he  was  in  EiMjand*  He  says,  that,  being 
detected  in  conversation  ^  ith  the  French  ambassador  hy  nicht,  he 
was  committed  to  prison,  all  his  estate  confiscated,  and  that,  if  he  had 
fallen  into  th^  hands  of  Jnlius,  he  would  scarce  have  escaped  with 
his  life.  But  the  consequence  of  this  ^JT^  linkup  was,  that  the 
king,  who,  perhaps,  by  putting  off  the  afmir,  might  have  composed 
the  difference,  hastened  the  war.  Operum  Erasmi,  in  Folio,  printed 
Sl  I^yden;  170S,  tom^  iv.  col.  684, 


4fi  m  mcADmEftft  ot 

Urn  as  muok  time  as  he  pleases  to  prepare  himself; 
and,  besides,  his  is  one  oontinaea  thread  of  dis- 
The  ready  course,  i^thottt  intetmiisMon ;  whereas,  it  is  the  ad-> 
•radv^  vocate*8  interest  to  enter  the  lists  ex.tempore,  and 
^^'  the  unex{)eoted  answers  of  the  adverse  party  dirotr 
him  off  his  bias,  sotiiat  he  is  immediately  forced  to 
strike  into  a  new  path.  Yet,  at  the  interview  bei- 
twixt  pope  Clement  and  king  Francis,  at  Marseilles, 
it  happened  quite  contrary,  that  M.  Poyet,  %  man 
who  had  been  bred  up  all  his  life  to  the  bar,  and 
was  in  high  repute,  Ijeing  commissioned  to  make  the 
harangue  to  the  pope,  and  having  so  long  studied  it 
before-hand,  that,  it  is  said,  he  brought  it  quite  ready 
with  him  from  Paris  j  the  pope^on  the  very  day  that 
it  was  to  be  spoken,  lest  he  should  intend  to  say 
something  which  might  disgust  the  ambassadors  of 
the  other  princes  that  were  about  him,  sent  the  king 
a*  topic  which  he  thought  fittest  both  for  the  time 
and  place,, but  such  atopic  as  was  quite  different 
from  that  which  Monsieur  Poyet  had  taken  so  much 
pains  about ;  so  that  the  speech  he  had  prepared  re- 
maned of  no  use,  and  he  was  forced,  tiiat  very  in- 
stant, to  set  about  ano^er;  but,  finding  himself 
incapable  of  forming  it,  the  cardinid  de  Bellay  wa^ 
constrained  to  take  that  chatge  upon  him.  '  The 
pleader's  province  is  more  difficult  than  that  of  the 
preacher ;  and  yet,  in  my  opkiion,  we  find  more 
passable  pleaders  than  preachers,  at  leaait  in*  ("ranee* 
It'  seems  that  it  is  the  nature  of  wit  to  operate 
speedily,  and  on  a  sudden ;  whereas  the  operation  of 
judgment  is  deliberate  and  slow*  But  it  is  as  strange 
lor  a  man  to  be  totally  silent  for  want  of  lei.'Oire  to 
prepare  his  speech,  as  it  is  foranother  to  speak  never 
the  better  though  he  had  leisure.      '  ; 

Severn  It  is  Said  of  Severus  Cassius,*  that  he  spoke.  hCst 
SokTbest^thout  having  thought  of  tlic  subject  beforehand  ; 
without     that  he  was  more  indebted  to  bis  fbrtime  than  to  his 

.   ♦■  Sei^eca's  Epitome  Controversiarum.  Prefi  lib.  iiL.p..274f*  Sdiliott 
at  GenWa^  anno  1626.  ...  • 


^LaWNSSS  IK  WEEClO.  41 

^gence ;  tbflit  he  spoke  best  when  he. was  angered;  pi^pm- 
tJid  that  his  adversaries  wer^  aitaid  to  provoke  him,  ^^ 
lest  his  indignation  should  give  a  double  edge  to  his 
ekx][uence.     I  ^now  by  experience,  that  sort  of 
geiuus  whiph  is  90  aYer$^  tQ  intense  and  p^in&l  pre« 
meditation,  if  it  does  not  operate  briskly  and  freely, 
performs  nothing  to  the  purpose.     We  say  of  some 
works,  that  they  stink  of  oil,  and  the  lamp,  by  reason 
of  a  certain  harshness  and  roughness,  from  the  labour 
with  which  they  were  composed.    But  besides  this, 
the  solicitude  of  perfbmiing  well,  and  the  effort  of 
the  mind  too  far  strained,  and  too  intent  upon  its 
undertaking,  break  the  chain  of  thought,  and  hinder 
its  progress,  as  is  the  case  of  water,  which,  being 
pressed  by  its  force  and  quantity,  hardly  passes  out 
of  the  neck  of  a  fiill  bottle,  when  just  opened.     In 
that  sort  of  genius  of  which  I  have  been  speaking, 
there  is  this  also  observable,  that  it  does  not  like  to  be 
disordered  and  stimulated  with  such  strong  passion; 
as  the  wrath  of  Cassius  (for  such  an  impulse  would 
.Jbe  too  rough),  it  likes  not  to  be  shocked,  but  soli- 
cited ;  and  had  rather  be  warmed  and  roused  by 
sudden  and  accidental  occasions  that  are  foreign  to 
the  point.    If  it  be  lefl  to  itself,  it  only  flags  and  lan- 
guisnes ;   agitation  gives  it  grace  and  vigour,     I  do 
not  like  to  be  master  of  myself,  and  am  more  under 
the  dominion  of  chance.     Occasion,  company,  and 
even  the  rising  and  falling  of  my  voice,  extract  more 
from  my  imagination,  than  I  can  find  in  it  when  I 
sound  it  and  speculate  by  myself.     Consequently,  I 
speaJc  better  tnan  I  write,  if  either  was  to  be  pre- 
ierred,  where  neither  is  worth  any  thing.     This  also 
befalls  me,  that  I  am  absent  from  myself,  and  that 
chance  brings  me  to  myself,  more  than  any  inspec- 
tiofi  into  mv  ''own.  judgment.     I  shall  throw  out  a 
witticism,  wncn  I  write,  which  I  may  think  very  fine 
and  delicate,  others  dull  and  lifeless ;  but,  to  speak 
freely,  every  one  talks  thus  of  himself  according  to 
his  talent.    For  my  part,  I  am  frequently  so  be- 
wild^red^  ^at  I  I^qw  not.  ^vhat  I  am  about  to  9ay, 


♦♦  O*  PUOONOSTICATIOXS. 

and  a  stranger  finds  it  out  before  me.  Were  I  to 
make  a  razure  as  oil  as  this  befalls  me,  I  should 
have  nothing  at  all  to  say ;  but  chance  will  at  an- 
other time  shew  it  to  me,  as  plain  as  the  sun  at 
noon-day,  and  malce  me  wonder  how  I  came  to  hesi* 
tate. 


CHAPTER  XL 


Of  Prognostications. 

jtilS  for  oracles,  it  is  certain  tliat  they  began  to  lose 
their  credit  long  before  the  birth  of  Jesus  Christ  ; 
for  we  read  tliat  Cicero  was  at  a  loss  to  know  the 
reason  of  it,  by  his  saying,  "  How  comes  it  to  pass 
"  that  the  oracles  at  Delphos  are  not  only  now  silent, 
*'  but  have  been  so  for  a  good  while,  insomuch  that 
*'  nothing  is  more  despised  ?'*•  But  as  to  the  other 
prognostics  that  were  derived  from  the  anatomy  of 
the  beasts  at  the  sacrifices,  to  which  Plato,  in  some 
'measure,  ascribes  the  natural  constitution  of  the  in- 
testines of  these  beasts  ;  as  to  the  cluttering  motion 
of  chickens  with  their  feet,  the  flying  of  birds : 
(Aves  (jiiasdam^  renim  augurandarum  causa  natas 
esse  putamus.f  L  e.  We  think  some  sort  of  birds  be 
created  purposely  for  the  sake  of  augury.)  Claps  of 
thunder,  the  wmding  of  rivers,  (Malta  cernunt 
araspices  ;  mitlta  augures  provident ;  multa  oraculis 
declarantur  ;  tnalta  vaticinationibus  ;  multa  somniis  ; 
multa  portent  is  ;t  i.e.  Soothsayers  and  augurs  con-^ 
jecture  and  foresee  rnany  things,  and  many  things 
are  foretold  in  oracles,  divination,  dreams,  and  pro- 
digies.) And  as  to  others  of  the  like  nature,  upoq 
which  the  ancients  grounded  most  of  their  undertak- 
ings, whether  public  or  private,  our  religion  has  to- 

•  Cic.  de  DJvinatione,  lib.  ii.  cap.  52. 

t  Cic.  de  Naturii  De^ruui,  U\>,  ii.  cpp,  64.  %  Ibid.  cap.  65. 


OF  ^ROGNOStlCATtONS.  *1 

tally  abc^hed  them;  aldiough ' there  yet  remain 
among  us  some  methods  of  divination  from  the  stars, 
JTom  spirits,  the  forms  of  human  bodies,  from  dreams^ 
and  the  like ;  a  notable  instance  of  the  wild  curiosity 
of  our  nature  in  amusing  itself  to  anticipate  futurity^ 
as  if  it  had  not  enough  to  do,  to  digest  the  things 
present. 

—  CiiT  hanc  tihif  rector  Olj/mpii 
Solicitis  visum  mortaHhis  addere  curami 
Noscuni  veniuras  ui  dira  per  omnia  eiades  f 

Bit  sulitum  (piodcunque  parasy  sit  ccpcafuttiri 
Mens  koniinumjatf,  liceat  sperare  timenti.^  i.  e- 

Why,  sov'iieigfn  ruler  of  Olympus,  why. 
To  nnman  breasts,  which  heave  the  ankiotis  sigh, 
Add*st  than  this  care,  that  rnen  should  be  so  wi^ 
To  know,  by  omens,  future  miseries  ? 

Unlook'd  for  send  the  ills  thou  hast  designed) 

Liet  human  eyen  to  future  fate  be  blind, 

That  hope,  amidst  our  fears,  some  place  may  findi 

Jt^e  utile  quidcm  est  scire  quid  futttrum  sit :  wiserum 
est  enim^  nihil  proficient  em  angi.\  i.  e.  It  is  of  no 
avail  to  know  what  is  to  come  to  pass  ;  and  it  is  a 
miserable  thing  to  be  tormented  for^  nodiing.  Yet 
divination  is  of  much  less  authority  in  our  days- 
Wherefore,  I  think  Francis  marquis  de  Saluzzo  a 
Very  notable  instance,  who,  being  a  lieutenant-gene- 
ral in  the  ahny  of  king  Francis,  beyond  the  moun- 
tains, a  prodigious  favouiite  at  our  court,  and  obliged 
to  the  kinjj  for  the  said  marquisate,  which  liis  brother 
had  forfeited ;  and  who  withal  had  no  occasion  to 
change  his  party,  his  own  affection  opposing  any 
such  step,  suffered  himself  to  be  so  tcrrilied  (as  was 
confidently  affirmed)  with  the  favourable  prognosti- 
cations that  were  universally  J^pread  abroad  to  the 
advantage  of  tlic  emperor,  Charles  V.  and  to  our 
disadvantage  (even  in  Italy,  where  these  idle  pro- 

*  Lucau.  lib.  iL  vcr.  4^  5^6^  14,  15. 
f  Cic«  de  Nat.  Deor«  lib.  uu  €ap.>  6. 


W  JPftO6)n>STICAT|01l& 

phecies  had  gained  duch  credit^  that  at  Rome  a  great 
sum  of  money  was  staked  on  the  supposition  of  our 
ruin)»  that,  having  often  condoled  Witn  his  particular 
fiienda  for  the  misfortunes  which  he  saw  must  un- 
avoidably fall  upon  the  crown  of  France,  and  the 
friends  he  had  there,  he  revolted,  in  15S6,  and 
changed  sides ;  but  to  his  great  loss,  whatsoever 
constellation  presided  at  time.  For  he  behaved  in 
this  affair  like  a  man  agitated  with  divers  passions ; 
having  both  towns  and  forces  at  his  command,  the 
enemy's  army  under  Antonio  de  Leva  close  by  him, 
and  we  having  no  suspicion  of  his  design,  it  was  in 
his  powe-r  to  have  almost  entirely  ruined  us ;  we  did 
not,  however,  lo^e  a  single  man  by  his  treachery, 
neither  kny  town  but  Fossan,  nor  even  that  till  after 
a  long  dispute. 

Prudensfuturi  iemporis  exifum 
Caliginosa  node  premii  Deus: 
Ridetque  si  mqrialu  uUra 
ias  irepidat. 

'^"—-'iUe  poiens  sui 
Ltstusque  de^ety  cut  licet y  in  diem 
Dixisse,  vixi:'  eras  vel  atra 
JTuhe  Polum  pater  ocQupcUo, 
Vel  sole  pure* 

Lcetus  m  prcesens  anirnusy  quod  ultra  esi 
Oderit  €urare,\  i.  c. 

The  God  of  wisdom  has  in  shades  of  night 
Futitre  events  conceal'd  from  hiiman  sight ; 
And  smiles  with  pity  at  the  mortal  race, 
'   Trembling  for  what  may  never  come  to  pasif^ 

He*s  master  of  hunself  alone. 
He  lives  that  makes  each  day  his  own  j 
bis  life  is  happy,  who  con  say, 
When  night  comes^  Fve  lived  well  to^y; 
And  for  to-morrow  takes  no  care, 
Whether  the  day  prove  foul  or  fair. 

The  man  that's  clieerful  in  h&present  sMI^ 
.  Is  pever  anxious  for  his  future  fate* 


.  *  Hpr.  Ode  xxix.  Kb.  iiL  rer«  2S* 
.  t  Ibid*  Ode  xyl.  lib.  ii^  ver.  <25, 2i^. 


OF  FEOGKOSTICATIONS^  4% 

And  they  who  put  axOiltrafy  sense  on  this  passai^ 
misunderstand  It*    . 

Much  more  wisely  said  Pacuvius, 

Nam  tsiis  qtd  Imjguam  avium  inteUigunty 

— Plmque  eatfUienojecare  saphmi,  qmm  e36  suo, 

'^Magis  OMdiefubimy  qadmauscultandum  censeo.    i.  e. 

As  for  such  who  understand  the  language  of  birdsj 
and  know  more  by  the  liver  of  an  animal  than  by 
their  own  reason,  I  think  it  is  better  to  give  them  a 
hearing  than  credit. 

The  so  much  celebrated  art  of  divination  among  ""1*^2^ 
the  Tuscans,  had  its  rise  thus :  a  ploughman,  forcing  ^^a 
his  share  deep  into  the  earth,  turned  up  the  demi-  ^^^^'^^ 
god  Tage^J^  who  had  the  visage  of  a  child,  but  the 
wisdom  of  an  old  man.     Every  body  flocked  to  him ; 
and  his  sayings,  and  his  system,  containing  the  prin- 
triples  of  this  aft,  and  the  means  of  attaimng  it,  was 
compiled,  and  preserved  for  many  ages.    As  its  rise, 

*  What  Montaigne  says  here,  seems  at  first  obscure,  and  it  is  not 
easy  to  discover  its  eonnection  with  what  goes  before.  But  this  yet' 
plexky  proceeds  dhiefly  ftom  the  bold  and  unusual  transposition 
Uriqcli  lie  kas  made  of  the  words  au  cantraire^  which  oi^ht  to  be  jtlaced 
thuB«  au  conirfdre^  ceux  qui  crovevt  ce  mot  le  croifent  h  tort ;  u  e.  On 
the  contrary,  they  who  believe  this  passage  are  in  the  wrong.  It  has 
been  qmte  mistaken  in  Mr.  Cotton's  £n^ish  Translation  of  Mon- 
taigne^ however  just  and  elegant  it  may  be  elsewhere ;  for,  hitherto^ 
Monfea^ne  had  been  condemning  the  prognostics  o^  futurity,  drawft 
from  several  tokens,  founded  merely  on  human  fancy ;  ana  now  he 
declares  against  that  principle  of  the  stoics,  quoted  by  Cicero  de 
Divinatione,  lib.  iiL  ciqp.  6.  viz.  '^  If  there  is  such  a  thmf  ail  divina- 
**  tion,  there  era  gods  %  and  if  there  are  goda^  there  is  di:^iikatioiu" 
I  have  been  more  particular  in  my  preface,  to  shew  the  reason  of 
that  incoherence  for  which  Montaiene's  style  is  so  much  blamed.  It 
is  certain  that  the  connection  of  liis  senthnents  must'needs  often 
escape  the  diseemment  of  an  inattentive  reader ;  but  I  hope  tKat  I 
have  demonstrated,  diat,  however  common,  the  connection  is  ^eij 
-renL 

f  PaCQvius  apud  Cic.  de  Divinatione,  l^b.  L  c.  57. 

j:  Cicd^Dnrinatione,  Uh.ii.  cap.  23. 

Jndigeiut  dixere  Tagen^  ^i primus  Etrtiscam 

Edcadt  gmtem  cams  aperirejuturos.     Ovid.  Metara.  lib.  xv« 

i.  e.  He  that  first  taueht  the  Tuscans  the  knowledge  of  futurity 
was  by  the  natives  called  Tages.  i 


4$  01^  PftOG2«d8tt(;Al?t0^d4 

60  wad  its  progi*ess.  I  should  choose  rather  to  r^* 
late  ray  affiiirs  by  the  turn  of  a  die,  than  by  such 
dreams;  and,  indeed,  in  all  repubUcs,  a  good  share 
of  authority  has  ever  been  left  to  chance.  Plato,  in 
that  system  of  government  which  he  has  formed  out 
of  his  own  head,  ascribes  the  decision  of  several  im- 
portant things  to  chance;  and  amongst  the  rest, 
Would  have  marriages  of  the  better*  sort  of  people 
be  appointed  by  lot^  and  to  such  choice  by  chance 
he  gives  so  great  a  sanction,  as  to  order  the  children 
bom  of  such  marriage  to  be  brought  up  in  the  coun- 
try, and  that  those  of  mean  parentage  should  be 
turned  out  of  it:  nevertheless,  that  if  any  one,  so 
banished,  should,  as  it  grew  up,  happen  to  give  any 
hopes  of  being  eminently  good,  it  might  be  recalled^ 
and  those  that  were  kept  at  home,  who  give  little  ex- 
pectation of  their  youth,  were  as  Uable  to  be  banished^ 
I  see  some  that  pore  and  comment  on  tlieir  almanacs, 
producing  their  authority  for  occurrences,  who  after 
all  must  needs  stumble  upon  some  truth  in  a  number 
of  lies.  Quis  est  enim  qui  totum  diemjaculam  mn  all- 
quando  conlinetff  u  e.  Who  is  there  that  shoots  at 
ft  mark  all  day,  will  not  hit  it  sometimes  ?  I  do  not 
think  the  better  of  them  for  some  accidental  hits. 
There  would  be  more  certainty  in  it,  if  it  Was  settled 
as  a  rule  always  to  lie.  Besides,  nobodv  keeps  a  re«> 
gister  of  their  misreckonings,  because  they  are  com- 
taon  and  endless ;  but,  if  they  once  guess  right,  their 
divinations  are  cried  up  as  rare,  incredible,  and  pro- 
digious*   Diagoras,  surnamed  the  Atheist,  being  in 

*  Viz.  in  his  Republic,  lib*  v.  where  he  reauires,  that  the  chic&  of 
his  commonwealth  should  so  order  it^  that  the  men  of  the  greatest 
excellence  should  be  matched  with  the  most  excellent  women; 
and  on  the  contrary,  that  the  most  contemptible  men  should  be  itiarw 
ried  to  women  of  Uieir  owh  low  character ;  but  that  the  thing  khould 
be  decided  by  a  sort  of  lottery,  so  artfully  managed  (»AJi^  ncytrttt 
M(M^W)  that  the  latter  may  blame  Fortune  for  it,  and  not  their  go^ 
Vernors*  But  there  is  not  one  instance  of  choice  made  by  chance« 
and  consequently  Montaigne  might  ad  well  have  dmitted  to  give  Us 
thin  quotation. 

t  Cic.  de  Divioaiionci  lib.  ii«  cap;  5&i 


the  temple  Of  Samoddra^e,  yditte  ht  saw  AemtaSf 
vows  ami  pictures  of  those  that  had  Escaped  ^hip-^ 
Wrecks  tfre  person  who  shewed  thetai,  said  to  him^ 
/^  You  i0^ho  think  that  the  gods  have  no  concern  for , 
^^  human  thin^,  what  say  you  of  so  many  persons 
•*  saved  by  their  favour  ?"    "  So  it  was,"  replied  Dia- 
goras,  ^^  but  here  are  ndt  the  pictures  of  those  that 
*^  were  drowned,  who  wei*e  much  the  greater  num*- 
**  ber.**    Cicero  observes,*  that  of  all  the  philosor 
phers  who  acknowledged  any  deities,  Xenopnanes  of     ' 
Colophon  is  the  only  one  that  endeavoured  to  eradl^^ 
eate  all  nlanner  of  divination.    And  it  is  not  so  much, 
to  be  wondered,  if  we  have  seen  some  of  our  princes^ 
to  their  own  cost,  influenced  by  these  chimeras^t    jL 
wish  I  I\ad  with  my  own  eyes  seen  those  two  wonder^ 
ful  books,  viz.  that  of  Joachim,  the  Calabriim  ab- 
bot, IVhich  foretold,  all  the  future  popes^  thdr  nlimes 
tad  shapes  |   and  that  of  the  emperOr  Leo,  which 
prophesied  of  the  emperors  And  patriarchs  of  Chreece^^^ 
This  I  have  been 'An  eye-witness  oi^  that,  in  public 
bonfiisions,  men,  astonished  at  their  fortune,  have 
abandoned  their  reason  almost  totally  to  superstition^, 
by  lookihff  ttp  to  the  starry  heaven  for  the  ancient 
causes  and  prognostics  of  their  &te,  and  have  there* 
in  been  so  siuprisingly  successful,  in  my  time,  as  t<^ 
make  me  believe,  that  this  study,  being  an  amuse- 
ment for  men  of  penetration  and  Jeisure,  those  who 
are  inclined  to  this  subtilty  of  explaining  and  unrid- 
dling  mysteries,  would  be  capable  of  finding  out  what 
they  want  to  know  in  all  wntings  whatsoever.    But, 
above  all,  that  which  gives  them  the  greatest  scope, 
is,  the  obscure^  ambiguous,  and  fiintastic  part  of 
their  prophetic  jargra,  to  which  their  authors  givo 
no  clear  mterpretatioiu   ta  the  end  that  posterity, 
may  make  what  application  of  it  they  pleade. 

The  D^mon  of  Socrates  was,  perhaps,  a  certain  ^^^"^ 
impulse  of  the  will,  which  obtruded  itself  on  him^jfi^'oT 

*  Cic4  de  Kat  Deonim,  fib>  ISi  cap*  Vt* 
-/.  t'  Cic4 de  DiTm«.lib.,L  cap*  Si 

VOL.  I.  E" 


Socrates*  iKTi^dut  GOHfiditii^  his  (fmx  yodigixi&it  FiMT  in  a.  smtl 
'^*°^°-  so  refined*  as  hisf  was,  and  prepared  by  the  coBstanV 
exems^  of  wisdom  and  viFtue^  it  is  ptbbabld,  that 
tibese  hk^finations  oflns,  though  rash  and  indigeste^ 
i9^re  always  in^ptatft,  and  ^iortky  to  be  fbuowd^' 
Every  one  finds  in  himfielf  some  image  of  such  agi- 
tttlionii^  of  a  prompt, .vehement,  and  ft)]>tuitou»  opi^ 
nion^  It  is  my  duty  to  allow  fhem  s<Mne  awthovity, 
who  attribute  so  Ktfle  to  our  prud^iee.  And  I  my- 
self have  had  some  agitations^  weak  in  i^eason,  buC 
riolent  in  persuasion^  or  in  diseuasion^  (vftiich  wasr 
the  commfon  case  with  Socrates),  by  which  I  hav9 
suffered  myself  to  be  canned  ^way  b»  much  to  ngp 
^wn  advantage,  that  they  might  we&  be  suppoead)  tMi 
have  something  i»^  l9iem  of  divide  inspiralioii* 


B' 


CHAITEEXIt 

! 

Of  Comtcuicjf. 


lY  resolution  and  c^onstan^y  it  is  not  ih^lied  thaie 
In  what    we  ought  uot,  a9  much  as  in  us  Kes,  to  seewe  oui^- 
•nd'l^fa-^^^^  fi»om  the  mischiel^  arid  inconvenieneeB  that 
tion  con-  threaten  us  J  nor,  consequently,  that  we  should  m)# 
•***'         be  afraidbf  being  surprised-  by  them :  on  thecontraffy, 
all  honest  means  of  preserving  ourselves  fi'om  hm-ms* 
are  net  only  ^owed  of,  but  commendable.     And> 
^e  businessr  of  constency.  chiefly  is,  to  sufier,  with- 
out fMnching,    dirose  inconveniences  i^ainst  whicfe 
t^re  is  no  remedy.     At  the  9am^  tiifte,'  there  isrna 
motidn  of  the  body,  nor  any  gu£u:d  in  tiie  handlings 
.      ofarmS)  that  we  (Uisa^prOve  of,  if  it  serves  to  de&nd^ 
us  from  the  stroke  tli«t  is  aimed  at  us.     Several  verv* 
warliKi^  itotions  have,   in  th^r  battles,  fbui}j[l  tlieir 
chief  advimtage  in  a  retread,  and  done  the  ei^my> 
more  mischief  by  turning  their  backs  to  them  than 
their  faces.     Of  which  wajr  of  fighting  the  Turks  re- 
tain something  to  this  day.     Socrates,  in  Plato,  ral* 


•W  COMTANCY*  51 

licS  taehes,  who  hdSA  deSfied  fbrtittide  to  be  nofliifi^ 
more  nor  less  than  standing  firm  in  rank  to  &ceih^ 
ettemj :  •*  What/'  said  he,  **  would  it  be  cowardice 
**  to  beat  them  by  giving  gronnd  ?'*  At  the  same 
time,  he  quoted  Homer,  where  he  commends  ^Enea^ 
4br  liis  'sicill  in  retreating.  And  because  Ladies, 
upon  fresh  consideration,  owned  this  was  the  prac- 
tice of  fihe  Scythians,  and  in  general  of  aH  cavalry, 
lie  urged  ahottier 'proof  from  the  instance  of  the  in,- 
fentry  of  the  Lacedaemonians  (a  nation  of  all  others 
the  most  obstinate  in  maintaining  their  ground), 
who,  in  the  batde  of  Hatea,  not  being  aWe  to  pene*- 
trate  the  Persian  {^alanx,  thought  fit  to  fell  back; 
that  the  enemy,  supposing  them  i!ying,  might  break 
and  disunite  their  mrm  body  in. the  pursuit,  by  which 
means  Ae  Lacedaemomans  obtained  the  victory.  Ais 
for  the  Scydiians,  it  is  said,  that  when  Darius  srt  oirt 
on  his  expedition  to  subdue  them,  he  sent  tiftc^ 
proach  the  king  with  cowardice,  for  always  retiring 
before  hhn,-  and  declining  a  battle ;  to  which  Inda- 
thyrsis  (for  that  was  his  name)  made  answer,  **  That 
*'  ne  did  so  not  for  fear  of  him,  or  of  any  mao  Kving^ 
**  but  that  it  was  the  way  of  marching  in  his  country^ 
**  where  there  were  neither  tilled  iielcfc,  nor  town,  nor 
"  house  to  defend,  or  of  which  the  enemy  could  makA 
**  any  advantage :  but  that  if  he  had  sudi  a  voraciouii 
**  appetite,  let  him  only  come  and  view  tiieir  ancient 
**  place  of  sepulture,  and  there  be  should  havtj  hii 
^  benyfiil.*'* 

Nevertheless,  as  to  cannon  which  is  levelled  for  a 
mark,  as  the  occasions  of  war  oftep  require,  it  is 
shameftd  to  quit  a  post  to  avoid  the  threatened  blow, 
forasmuch  as,  by  reason  of  the  violence  and  velocity 
of  the  shot,  we  account  it  inevitable ;  and  many  a  per- 
son, by  ducking  the  head,  or  holding  up  the  hand, 
has  furnished  matter  for  his  comrades  to  laugh  at. 
Yet,  in  the  expedition  which  thie  emperor  Charles 
V.  made  agaihst  us  in  Provence,  the  marquis  dc 

♦  Herodotus,  1*.  it.  p.  300,  301- 
£2 


fS  OP  comTMrcY# 

Guast  going  to  reconnoitre  the  city  of  Arles^  Md 
.venturing  to  advance  out  of  the  shelter  of  a  windmill, 
by  the  favour  of  which  he  made  his  approach  so  near 
the  town  as  he  had  done,  he  was  spied  by  the  seig«> 
neurs  de  Bonneval  and  the  seneschal  d'  Agenois,  as 
they  were  walking^  on  the  Theatre  des  Aren^/  who 
having  shewed  mm  to  Monsieur  de  ViUiers,  com* 
missary  of  the  artillenr,  he  levelled  a  culverin  at  him 
sio  dexterousty,  that  had  not  the  marquis,,  upon  see* 
ing  the  matcn  lighted,  instantly  pop{^d  to  one  side, 
he  probably  would  have  been  shot  in  the  body.  In 
like  manner,  some  years  before  this,  Lorenzo  de  Af  e- 
dicis^  duke  of  Urbino,  father  to  the  queen-mother  of 
^France,  laying  siege  to  Mondolpho,  in  those  parts 
called  the  Vicariate  of  Italy,  seemff  the  gunner  put 
fire  to  a  piece  that  pointed  direct^  at  mm,  was  so 
fortunate  as  to  duck  down  that  moment,  otherwise 
the  ball,  which  only  grazed  the  top  of  his  head,  would 
doubtless  have  hit  him  on  the  breast.  To  speak 
truth,  I  do  not  think  that  these  dodging  are  made 
with  judgment;  for  how  is  any  man  living  able  to 
judge  ofhigh  or  low  aim  on  so  sudden  an  occasion  I 
and  it  Is  much  more  natural  to  think,  that  fortune 
iavoured  their  fear,  and  that  the  same  motion,  at  an« 
other  tim^  might  as  well  put  a  person  into  danger,  as 
free  him  ^om  iL  For  my  own  part,  I  cannot  for* 
bear  starting  when  the  noise  of  a  gun  thunders  in  my 
ears  on  a  sudden,  and  in  a  place  where  I  have  no  rea« 
son  to  expect  it,  which  I  have  also  observed  in  othec 
fiiu»s4w  inen  of  stouter  hearts  than  mine.  Neither  do  the 
stoics  mean  that  the^oul  of  their  philosopher  should 


blancabte 


for^ieid.  be  proof  against  the  first  surprise,  oy  visions  and  fan 
iilttlu^  cies ;  and  they  tiiink  that  it  is  but  natural  for  him  to 
tMiis  of    \)Q  shocked  by  the  terrible  rattle  of  thunder^  or  the 
lionT^     fall  of  sp^,  ruin,  for  mstanGe,  ^  even  so  as  to  turn 
pale^  or  becbtivulsed  (as  well  as  in  the  other  pas- 
sions).    This  the  stoics,  I  say,  dispense  with  in  tneir 
wise  man,  provided  his  judgment  remains  swmd  ^ 

*  The  theatre  for  the  public  shews  of  ridbigr  §mclng»  &€^ 


OF  THE  INTERVIEW  OP  FRIKCES.  59 

Entire.  A  fright  is  the  same  thing  to  hini  who  is  not* 
a  philosopher,  in  the  first  moment  of  it,  but  quite 
jmother  case  in  the  second ;  for,  in  such  a  one,  the 
impression  of  the  passions  does  not  remain  supei^- 
cial  only,  but  penetrates  even  to  the  seat  *of  his  rea-* 
son,  so  as  to  infect  and  corrupt  it.  According  to 
his  passions  he  judges  and  confbrms  his  conduct.  But 
in  ti)is  verse  you  may  see  the  state  of  the  wise  stoic 
elegantly  ana  plainly  expressed : 

Mensimmotammet,  lacrymi9  vdvuntur  kuaufs.*  '  ^ 

The  mind  doth  fix'd  lemaia. 
While  tears  are  shed  in  vaiiu 

The  peripatetic  philosopher  is  not  exempt  from' 
the  perturbations  pf  the  mind«  but  he  keeps  thtto' 
within  bounds^ 


CHAPTER  Xni. 

Of  the  Ceremony  at  the  Interviav  ofPrincet^ 

Jl  here  is  no  subject  so  fHvolous,  that  does  not  TheieiKct 
merit  a  place  in  this  rhapsody.    According  to  our  J^Sw* 
common  rules  of  civility,  it  would  be  unpohte  beha-^tiiiced  t« 
viour  to  an  equal,  and  much  more  to  a  superior,  to  ^iVr-t  ^ 
feil  of  being  at  home,^  when  he  has  ^ven  you  notice  ?J^'***** ' 
that  he  wiU  come  to  pay  you  a  visit.    Way,  queen  *^. 
Margaret  of  Navarre  earned  the  point  farther,  by 
saying,  that  it  is  uncivil  in  a  gentleman  to  go  out  of 
his  house,  as  is  a  common  practice,  to  meet  any  one 
coming  to  see  him,  be  he  ever  so  great  a  man ;  and 
^at  it  IS  more  respectful  and  civil  to  stapr  at  ^ome  to 
receive  him,  were  it  only  for  Ifear  of  missing  him  by 
the  way ;  and  that  it  is  enough  to  accompany  him! 
to  his  apartment.     For  my  part,  who  am^  for   as^ 
little  ceremony  as  possible  in  my  own  house>  I  oflexr 

*  Yirg.  IBgu»L.  lib.  h^  vera4i9L 


fei|^  both  tbeise  vain  ofiices.    J£  my  one  be  o& 
ttoded^  what  would  you  have  me  (Jo  ?    It  is  better 
to  o&^  him  once^  than  mjrself  every  day ;  for  it 
ippould  be  a  perpetual  sbvery.    To.  vrmL  end  do  we 
avoid  the  servile  attendance  of  courts,  if  we  bring 
the  same  home  to  our  ow;n  cottages? ,  It  is  also  a* 
eopmon  rule  in  all  assembliesy  ttiat  those  of  less 
(yaality  shpuld  b^  the  first  at  the  place  of  assignation, 
because  to  be  waited  on,  is  an  honour^  to  whicii 
those  pf  the.  greatest  distinction  have  the  best  title, 
^r^*^       NeveiUketess,    at  the    interview   betwixt  pope 
rtXIn-  Clement  VII.  and  king  Francis,  at  MafsfeiBes,  in 
*  riw '^  ^  1533,  the  king,  after  he  had  given  order  fbr  the 
^^  "^^    ucilisaiy  pieparatiohs,  went  iMt  of  town,  and  gitve 
the.fppe  twD  fit  tdftree  days  respite  fer  Im  entry  and 
refreshment,  before  he  came  to  him.  ,  In  likie  man^ 
ner  also,  at  the  interview  betwixt  the  same  pope  and 
the  emperor  Charles  V«  at  Bol^^a,  the  latter  end  of 
the  year  1532,  the  emperor  gave  leave  to  the  pope  to 
be  there  first,  and  then  went  tliither  himself     It  is^ 
they  say,  a  commtm  ceremony  at  the  conferences  of 
such  princes^  that  the  greatest  should  beat  the  place 
appointed  before  the  others,  nay  before  him  in  whose 
tarxitories  they  are  to  meet  ^  and  the  reascm  is,  ba- 
cause,  it  should  seem  proper  fbr  the  inferiors  to  seek 
ouij-and  apply  to  the  greater,  and  not  he  to  them. 
rp&mdt   .  Not  every  country  only,  but  every  citjr,  and  e^ea 
ciJStt/fe  eveiy  profession,  has  a  particular  form  of  civility.     I 
biameaMe.  was  cpcfully  enough  ediicated  when  a  cliild,  have 
lived  in  too  good  company  tb  be  ig^<H*ant  of  the 
eef  emonial  laws  of  oiu:  French  nation,  and  am  able 
ta  train  tup  others  in  the  same  knowledge.     I  love 
qlso  to  follow  them^  but  not  so  servilely  as  to  be  en- 
j|Iaved  to  them  all  iny  life-time.  '  They  have  some 
painful  formalities,  the  omission  of  which,  provided 
it  be  di^cretipnal,  .apd  not  through  mistake,  is  no. 
l)freach  of  decorum.      X  have,  oilen   seen  people 
rude  hy  being  over  ciiil,  and  troublesomQ  in  tlieir 
courtesy,  . 


USELESS  DEFttffOfi  ^0P  A  iPLACfi  PUNISHABLE.  £& 

rAs^fbr^idle  vest,to1m&m  haw  to^h^hsLve^weiXi  as 4tTheadvui. 
very  vsefiil  soiencew    Like  )£^acefoln6sa  and  bMutj^  ^^. 
it  oraates  a;likk|^  ^t  tlie  very  begmoinig  of  an  ao^utedcivi- 
i)iiaiiiti»ide   md  ^miiiBnty^  aiid,  Iby  HKmsdq^eiio&'^^^* 
iG|iea6  SL'Aoer  for  ^urinsteuctioi^,  l)y  the  esiaxogie  ^ 
ioikBt^y  ^Oi^^er  difli^lsfyaqg  and  ^odttcuig  ourselv^ 
ferfarvodelt  if  it  has  ai)j)r  thii|g  ^n  it  that  is^tmo 
live^^aofl^t  to  be'cfiknowBieMed. 


'^■^■Mi'M 


CHAPTER  XrV. 

Wkfit  ike  obstmme  D^riee  of  uiHk(t  that  is  mttn 
/     ilea^oH  to  he  defended^  deserves  to  be  puakhsdi 

V  AIXXJil  lisM  its  bounds^  as  weU  as  other  virtti^  Vaioanind 
whioh  once  ti^nsgre^ed,  the  next  *tep  is  wto-^he*^""""* 
teni*(>rie9  <£  vice  ^  so  that^  unless  a  man  be  ^^ 
p^rfect.in  its  limits,  which  are  indeed  mi  easily  to  he 
dtato^gmabed,  'such,  ill-^iii^ed  valour  leads  to  rash* 
nesa^iobstuiacy,  imd^y. 

.    Rrcdn  dsds  coHsikliFataon  is  derived  the  cwstoai^  in  wby  too 
time  'Cif  war,  of  pitnishii^,  Bv^i  with  deaths  suah  as^^^°^^^^ 
are  obstinate  tn  defradiisga  place  ¥4nqh,  by  the>rules  &  place  u 
pf  trai,  is  not  tamible :  eke  inen  ^w^oidd  be  so  eonfi-  ^"^^^^^^ 
d^Ati,  up^^n  the  hopes  of  :ii]^uBi<|r,  that,  e^^i^  -ben- 
iwtat  would  st(^  m  ^ne^,     llie  ^onsMlede  Mont* 
aoreiK^^)  nt  the  aieg^  "of  Pavia»  having  .oiders  to  pass 
the  Tesin,  and  to  take  up  liis  quarters  in  the  suburb 
of  St.  Antony,  being  hindered  from  doing  so  by  a 
tower  at  the  end  of  the  bridge,  which  was  so  obsti- 
nate as  to  stand  a.batteiy,  hie  hanged  up  every  man 
he  found  in  it.    Aftd  a|^n,id[);^t#ards,  when  lie  ac- 
companied the  dauphin  in  his,  expedition  beyond  the 
Alps,  and  tdok  ^t  titfstlb  of  Villan*  by  ^torm,  all 
yAm\xL  it  were  put  to  the  sword  i^y  tiie  '^nri^ell 
soldiers^  ^xoept  the  ^^aptain  and  the  ensign,  who^  he 
Caused  to  be  trossedujpfi>r<he  same  reason.    laKke 


«ff  TOT  PlTklSHBfEWf 

manner  the  captain  Martina  du  Bellajr,  then  goverw 
nor  of  Turin,  m  the  same  country,  treated  the  cap^ 
tain  de  St.  Bony,  the  rest  of  hi^  men  being  cut  M 
pieces  at  the  taking  of  the  place.  Btit  fbrasmudi 
as  the  strength  or  weakness  of  a  place  is  always 
Judged  of  by  the  number  and  weignt  of  the  forces 
that  attack  it  (for  a  man  might  reasonably  enough 
despise  two  culverins,  that  would  be  mad  if  he  stood 
the  battery  of  thirty  cannon,)  taking  also  into  the 
account  the  power  of  the  prince  who  is  master  of  the 
field,  his  reputation,  and  the  respect  due  to  him,  it  is 
to  be  foared,  the  bdance  will  inoline  a  little  on  that 
side ;  and  fit)m  hence  it  happens  that  such  princes 
have  so  great  an  opinion  of  themselves  ana  their 
thesfuxes;  that  thtuKing  it  unreasonable  that  anj^ 
place  should  presume  to  make  head  against  them^ 
they  put  all  to  the  sword  that  resist  them,  as  long  as 
their  fortune  continues,  as  we  see  by  the  proud  and 
kau^;hty  forms  of  summoning  towns,  and  denouncing 
war,  savouring  so  much  of  barbarian  insolence  in  use 
among  the  oriental  princes,  imd  their  successors,  to 
this  day.  ^  And  in  that  corn  w  which  the  Portuguese 
lopped  off  from  the  Indies,  they  found  some  domi** 
hions  in  'which  it  was  an  universal  and  inviokbfe  law, 
that  no  enemy  who  was  defoated  by  the  Idng  in  peiC 
son,  or  by  his  lieutenant  or  representative,  should  be 
entitled  either  to  a  ransom  or  mercy.  So  that^ 
above  all  things,  it  is  absolutely  necessary  for  every 
tnan  to  take  care  lest  he  fall  into  the  ^^ands  of  a  judge 
^hq  is  a  victorious  enmy,  and  imned  for  executioii^ 


CHAPTER  XV, 
Of  the  Punishment  of  Cowardice^ 

Bow  T 

cowardict  X  ONCE  heard  of  a  prince,  a  very  great  warrior, 
p^oUM^^^  <u3serted,  that  a  soldier  ouglit  not  to  be  put  to 
m  soldier,  death  b<ecause  he  had  a  faint  heart ;  and  that  he  said 


Cr  COWAKDIOS.  JT 

tlib  at  table,  upoo  bang  told  the  story  of  the  pro- 
ceedings  agaamt  Mcmsieur  de  Vervins^  and  of  his  be« 
ing  sentenced  to  death  for  havii^  given  up  Boulogne. 
Indeed,  it  is  reasonable  that  a  man  sho«d  make  a 
great  diflerence  betwixt  finilts  which  proceed  fipm 
our  weakness,  and  those  that  are  abiolutely  owin^  to 
our  malice  ;  £>r  in  the  latter  we  act  wilfully  against 
the  rules  of  that  reawn  whi<^  nature  has  planted  in 
us ;  and  in  the  former  it  s^ems  that  we  may  appeal 
for  our  vindication  to  that  same  nature,  fi»r  having 
left  us  in  such  a  state  oi  imperfoction  and  pusillam* 
mity.  insomuch,  tiiat  it  has  been  thought  by  many^ 
we  are  not  blameable  for  aov  thing  but  what  we  com-- 
mit  agaiilst  the  light  of  our  conscience ;  and  it  is 
partly  upon  tiiis  rule  that  those  ground  their  opinion, 
who  disapproved  the  inflictii^g.  capital  punishments 
upon  heretics  and  infidels }  and  on  this  also  is  partly 
founded  their  opinion,  who  hold  that  an  advocate 
and  a  judge  are  not  accountabljd  for  having  &iled  in 
their  commissions  through  i^orance. 
•  Now,  as  to  cowardice,  it  is  certain  that  the  most  The  cmk 
usual  my  of  correcting  it  is  by  disgrace  and  igno*"3IU!It«e 
miny.  It  ia  supposed  uiat  this  rule  was  first  prac->  cowafdiccw- 
tised  by  the  legislator  Charondas ;  and  that  b^ire 
his  time,  those  that  fled  irom  battle  were,  by  the  hiwa 
of  Greece,  punished  with  death  :*  whereas  he  or- 
dained, that  they  should  only  be  exposed  three  days 
together,  in  the  midst  of  a  public  square,  dressed  m 
woman's,  apparel,  hoping  wat  they  might  still  be« 
come  useful,  when  this  shame  had  roused  their 
courage;  choosing  rather,  as  TertulUan  says,  Sujfun^ 
dere  malis  hominis  Mhguinem  quam  effunderc  i\  i.  e. 
rather  to  raise  the  blood  of  a  man  in  his  cheeks, 
than  to  draw  it  out  of  his  veins.  It  seems  also,  that 
heretofore  those  who  SLeA  were,  by  the  Roman  laws^ 

4  Dibdorus  of  Sicily,  lib.xiL  cap.  4w 

t  Tertullian  in  Apologet.  p.  58S,  torn.  iL  edit,  at  Pkuris,  156& 
In  this  place  Tertullian  speaks  of  a  most  severe  law  against  debtors, 
whidi  was  annulled  by  die  emperoc  Sererus ;  who,  instead  of  pitlliBff 
|iieit|tade((|ls  ordm^tbeire&ctolob^seitM^  andpoUL. 


SB  ^9Muamm^ 


)pratiD  defcth:  ^  Attiniiftiv  Marorilmiis  Myft,*  tlit 

tbe  emperor  Julum  coodemned  fcfen  of  his  Mldm»^ 

who  mi  awmy  in  tiie  action  widi tiie X^UMhititty  tobe 

bro^e,  and  then,  aocoidiBg  to  the  ancient  laws,  to  bt 

put  to  deadu    Yet,  at  aodther  time,  bt  aenteboed 

othet8,t   for  a  liite  £iuh,  oniy  to  pass  tfadir  time 

inong  the  (Kiaoners  and  faiggage.    The  pisnisfamenf 

of  the  Roman  soldiers,  wfaoied  fiom  thie  battb  of 

Cannc,  and  of  thoK,  in  the  teme  war,  ffbo  mn  away 

with  Cneos  JFuivius,  at  his  defeat,  did  not  extend  .to> 

deodi.    But  it  is  to  be  feared  that  shame  makes  sndi 

dehnauents  despemte,  ami  renders  •  them  not  only 

oool  uiends,  bat  warm  enemies. 

How  the    .    In  1523^  Monsieur  de  Franget,  a  heiitenant  in 

Slpi^e wu i^^s^  de  Chatillon's  company,  being  appointed  go* 

ponuhed   vemor  of  Fontarabia,  by  tne  marshal  de  Chabannes^ 

M>«aniice.iQ  the  room  of  Mmisieiiir  de  Lude,  surrendered  it 

to  the  Spaniards,  for  which  he  was  degraded  frmn 

die  rank  of  nobility,  and  both  he  and  Ins  posterity 

declared  plebeians,  taxable  for  ever,  and  incapable 

of  bearing  arms ;  which  severe  sentraice  was  exe^ 

Guted  at  L^cms.    In  \SS6^  all  the  gendemen  who 

were  in  Guise,  suffered  the  like  punishment,  when 

the  ooimt  de  Nassau  entered  that  town,  and  others 

have  been  treated  in  the  same  manner  since,  for  the 

like  offence.    Neverthdbess,  in  an  instance  of  such 

gross  and  palpaUe  igmnance  or  cowardice  as  ex-» 

ceeds  all  common  cases,  it  is  but  reason  to  take  it  for 

a  sufficient  proof  of  treaeheiy  and  nuiiice,  and  ta 

punidi  it  as  such. 


CHAPTJIRXVL. 

A  Passage  of  some  Ambassadors. 

A  pruilent  T 

cnitom  Ob-  J  N  my  travcls,  I  make  it  toy  practice  to  put  those  I 
Monoid,  discourse  with  upon  the  subjects  they  best  under- 

**lLib,  xxiy»  cap.  4»  of  the  Lyons  edit*  in  1600*      t  Lib*  xxt.  cqp.  U 


80M»  AaiBASSADQitS.  59 

^And,  tliat  I  mny  team  Mmethinf  irom  liietr  infornm^^ 
tion,  tlian  wHich  no  school  in  the  world  can  affijrd  ay 
better  method  of  improvement:  J 

Basil  al  nochiero  ragimar  de  venti, 
.   M  bifoko  de  i  tori,  e  l^sue  pi^ghe 
Conifl  guerrier,  cont?l  pastor  gli  armentu^  '' 

Navita  de  venlis,  de  tauris  narrat  arator, 
Emernorat  miles  vtdnera,  pastor  ovis. 

The  pilot  best  of  winds  does  talk, 

Th^ peasant  of  his  cattle ; 
Tlie  shepherd  of  his  fleecy  flock ; 

The  soldier  of  his  battle. 

J*or  it  commonly  happens,  on  the  contrary,  tliat  peo- 
jple  choose  to  be  dealing  in  other  men's  business  rather 
than  their  own,  as  thinking  it  the  gain  of  so  mucli 
new  reputation  ;  witness  the  jeer  that  Periander  re- 
vived nrom  Archidamus>  viz.  "  That  he  abandoned 
*^  the  character  of  an  able  physician,  to  gain  that  of 
^*  a  sorry  poet/'  Do  but  observe  what  a  deal  of 
|>ainB  Caesar  takes  to  let  us  know  his  invention  in 
building  bridges,  or  constructing  macliines  for  war, 
and  how  concise  he  is  when  he  comes  to  speak  of  the 
duties  of  his  profession,  valour,  and  military  conduct. 
Hi»  exploits  prove  him  a  very  excellent  commander ; 
but  he  desired  also  to  be  known  for  as  good  an  en- 
gineer, an  art  in  some  measure  foreign  to  his  charac- 
ter,  Dionysius  the  elder  was  a  very  great  general, 
as  weU  became  his  fortune,  but  he  stu£ed  cmefly  to 
recommend  himself  by  poetry,  for  which  however  he 
had  no  talent.  A  gentleman  of  the  long  robe  being 
brought  some  days  ago  to  a  study,  which  was  fur* 
nished  with  all  sorts  of  books,  both  of  his  own  and 
all  other  faculties,  took  no  occasion  to  entertain 
himself  with  anv  of  ttiem,  but  began  very  abruptly 
and  magisterially  to  descant  upon  a  barricado  over^ 
against  the  stuay,  which  a  hundred  captains  and 
common  soldiers  see  every  day  without  taking  any 

*  These' Italian  yerses  of  Ariosto  are  a  perfect  imitation  df  the 
di^ttch  in  Plropertiot,  fyhichlbUairt  it|  libb  u.  degs  i  v.  43,  44^ 


CO  A  PASSAGE  OF      * 

notice,  or  affecting  to  appear  intelligent  on  tte 
subject: 

Optat  ephippia  Ivs  pnger,  opM  arare  calalbis.^  u  ۥ 

Tiie  lazy  ox  would  saddle  have  and  fatt. 
The  steed  a  yoke,  neither  for  either  fit. 

This  is  the  way  for  a  man  never  to  do  any  thing  con* 
siderable}  so  that  he  must  always  endeavour  to  leave 
the  architect,  the  painter,  the  snoemaker,  and  everjr 
other  mechanic  to  his  own  trade, 
or  what  To  this  purpose,  in  reading  history,  which  is  a 
|j*?,"7r^^^^^i'^jcct  equally  well  adapted  to  every  person,  I  have 
iiiow  the  been  ii3ed  to  consider  what  kind  of  men  are  th^ 
S»'wrkc"r/^'riters.  If  they  make  no  other  profession  tlian  that 
of  literature,  tneir  style  and  language  is  what  I 
chiefly  attend  to;  if  tney  are  physicians,  I  am  th^ 
more  ready  to  credit  them  in  what  they  tell  us  of  the 
air,  the  health  and  constitution  of  princes,  of  wounds 
.  and  diseases ;  if  lawyers,  we  are  by  them  to  be  guided 
in  the  controversies  of  Meum  and  Tuuvu  the  nature 
of  the  laws,  and  qivil  government,  and  the  like;  if 
diAines,  in  church  ai^^  ecclesiastical  ceixsures,  dis^ 
pensations,  and  marriages;  if  courtiers,  in  manners 
and  ceremonies;  if  soldiers,  the  things  that  belong 
to  their  duty,  and  especiially  ii\  the  narratives  they 
give  of  actions  wherein  they  have  been  personally 
present;  and  if  a^ibassadors,  we  are  to  observe  theu^ 
negotiations,  intel%ences  and  practices,  and  tlie 
manner  of  conducting  them.  This  is  the  reason  why 
(though  perhaps  I  should  have  lightly  passed  it  over 
in  another,  without  insisting  on  it)  1  paused,  and 
maturely  considered  a  passage  in  the  history  writ  by 
M.  de  Langey,  a  man  of  very  great  understanding 
in  things  of  that  nature,  which  was  his  account  o^ 
the  remonstrances  that  w^re  made  by  the  emperor 
Charles  V.  at  the  consistory  of  Rome,  m  the  presence 
of  the  bishop  of  Ma9on  and  Monsiieur  de  Velley,  our 
ambassadors,  wherein  he  mixed  several  invectivest 
against  our  nation;  and  amongst  others,  said,  ^^  Thaj^ 

^ilopace,  ep.  xiv.  yb.i^•▼er^49^     - 


ITOMtS  AMBAllSAbOfiSA  U0| 

^  If  his  officers  and  soldiers  were  not  bett^  to  be 
^^  trusted,  and  had  not  more  skill  in  the  art  of  war^ 
^  than  those  of  the  king,  he  would  go  that  moment 
^^  to  the  king  with  a  rope  about  his  neck,  and  sue  to 
^*  him  for  mercy»'*  It  really  seems  as  if  the  emperor 
had  no  better  opinion  of  our  soldiery^  because  he 
happened  afterwards,  twice  or  thrice  in  his  life,  to 
say  the  very  same  things  and  he  also  challenged  the 
king  to  iignt  him  in  his  shirt  with  sword  and  dagger^ 
in  a  boat.  Monsieur  de  Langey,  proceeding  in  his 
flistory,  adds,  that  the  said  ambassadors  in  their  des«  wtirther « 

Jatches  to  the  king>  concealed  the  greatest  part  from  l^^^^ 
im^  and  particularly  the  two  last  passages.    Now  I  don  ought 
wondeir  how  any  ambassador  can  excuse  himself  fov^^^y^m^^ 
not  giving  his  master  the  due  information  of  things  ff»j|«  >>««> 
of  such  consequence,  coming  from  such  a  person,  andaffai)!^^" 
spoke  in  so  ereat  an  assembly.    I  should  rather  con-^ 
ceive  it  had  been  the  servant's  duty  faithfully  to  have 
represented  things  in  their  true  light,  as  they  hap 

gened,  to  the  end  that  the  sovereign  might  be  at 
berty  to  order,  judge,  and  dispose  of  matters  as  he 
pleased:  for  the  disguising  or  concealing  the  truth 
from  him,  lest  he  should  take  it  in  a  wrong  sense, 
and  be  incited  to  imprudent  measures,  should  seem, 
methinks,  rather  to  belong  to  him  who  gives  law, 
than  to  him  who  receives  it;  to  him  wno  is  the 
guardian  and  master  of  the  school,  and  not  to  him 
who  ought  to  look  upon  himself  as  inferior,  not  only 
in  authority,  but  in  prudence  and  good  counsel.  Be 
this  as  it  will,  I  should  not  like  to  be  served  so  in^ 
my  little  sphere. 

Mankind  are  so  much  disposed  to  reject  tlie  con-^otoio^ 
trol  of  authority,  that  no  advantage  which  a  supe-to^^',Jj^^ 
rior  derives  from  those  who  serve  nim,  ought  to  berior^n 
so  dear  to  him  as  their  sincere  and  cordial  obediencCi  pbediml^ 
To  obey  him  from  discretion,  and  not  from  subjec- Jj^j^^^'°V 
tion,*  is  to  iiflure  the  office  of  command.    P.  Crassus, 

*  I  find  m  Bariieyrac's  lidtea  Upon  Puffendorf,  that  this  thdught" 
if  takeo  fioum  Aalva  QeUiiu,  lib.  L  cap.  IS. 


A  PASSACK  or  SOME  AUBAMABOM^ 

lAiem  the  Romans  rMkoned-hapjfiyiii  five  remects,* 
having,  while  he  was  consul  ih  Asiaj  ordered  an  en^ 
gineer  of  Greece  to  bring  him  the  biggeftt  of  two 
masta  of  ships  that  he  had  seen  srt  Athcais,  for  a  cer- 
tain battering  ^igine  which  he  proposed  to  mak^ 
with  it,  the  engineer,  pf  esumiog  upoB  his  own  dis- 
cretion, thought  fit  to  make  a  different  dioice,  and 
carried  him  the  least  of  the  two  masts,  which,  ac- 
cording to  the  rules  of  art,  was  abo  the  most  conve- 
nient; Crassus,  having  patiently  heard  his  reasons, 
caused  him  to  be  very  heartily  scourged,  thereby 
preferring  correction  to  the  pront  he  might  have  re^ 
ceived  from  the  work.  Such  strict  obedience,  bow- 
ever,  is,  perhaps,  due  only  to  conunands  that  are 
precise  and  peremptory,  llie  iunction  of  as  ambas* 
aador  is  not  so  limited,  but,  in  many  particulars,  he 
is  left  to  the  direction  of  his  own  judgment.  Those 
^o  are  invested  with  such  a  character  are  not  bardy 
the  executioners  of  their  sovereign's  wiQ  and  {Mea- 
sure, but  by  their  advice  they  form  and  model  it; 
and  I  have,  in  my  time,  known  persons  in  authority 
reproved,  fbr  having  rather  obeyed  the  express  words 
or  the  king's  letters,  than  conformed  to  the  exigency 
of  affidrs.  Men  of  understanding  do,  even  to  this 
day,  condemn  the  practice  of  the  kings  of  Persia,  in 
giving  their  lieutenants  and  agents  such  precise  in- 
structions, that,  upon  every  minute  difficulty,  they 
are  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  their  orders;  this  de- 
lay, in  so  vast  an  extent  of  dominion,  being  c^en 
attended  with  great  inconveniencie.  And  Crassus, 
in  writing  to  a  man  who  professed  and  understooct 
mechanics,  and  informing  him  of  the  purpose  for 
niiich  he  intended  this  mast,  did  he  not  seem  to  con-^ 
suit  his  opinion,  and  invite  him  to  interpose  hisc 
judgment? 

**'  Tkotko  was  Yer^  rich,  nosi  noble,  most  eloquent,  most  flkiKbi 
in  the  law,  and  the  highest  in  the  priesthood,  or  pontifex  maximus^ 
AuUGelliiNoctesAtticsc,  lib.i.  cap.  13. 


Of  SB41C 


CHAPTER  Xyil. 


Qf  Fear. 


I  ^va^aoifiz'd,  stiuck  tpeeAksB*  and  mj hak 
Qm,  ^  nff9a  my  head  did  wildly  fiU»e. 

X  AM.  not  a  good  naturalist  (as  they  call  itt)  aiulTtiestniiij^ 
scarce  know  by  what  springs,  fear  operates  in  us;  but*^**  ^^' 
this'  I  .koQW,  that  it  is  a  strange  passion^  and  the 
pkysiciana  say,  that  there  is  not  one  of  all  the  pas- 
sioua  that  sooner  dethrones  our  judgment  ^-om  it^ 
natural  seat.  I  have  actually  seen  a  great  many  per* 
sona  whom  fear  has  rendered  frantic^  and  it  is  certain, 
that  in  persona  the  most  composed,  it  creates  terribl.^ 
confusion  while  the  fit  is  upon  them.  To  say  nothing 
•f  tke  vulg^,  to  whom  it  one  while  represents  their 
great  grand^es^  risen  out  of  their  graves  in  their 
shrouds,  another  while  hobgoblinsv  i^ctres,  and 
chdxneras;  but  even  amongst  the  soldiers,  who  ought 
to  be. possessed  with  the  least  share  of  it,  how  often 
have  they  mistaken  a  flock  of  hannless  sl^ep  for 
armed  squadrons,  reeds  and  bulrushes  for  pikes  and 
lances,  fHends  for  enemies,  and  the  whib^  crpss  of 
France  for  the  red  one  of  Spain  ?  In  15^7,  when 
the  duke  of  Bourbon  took  Kome,  an  ensi^,  who 
was  upon  guard  at  the  Bourg  St.  Pierre,  was  sg 
frightened  at  the  very  first  alarm,  that  ha  threw^lijim^ 
seu  out  of  the  breach  with  die  colours  in  his  ha^,  * 
and  ran  directly  from.  the.  toAvn  upon  the  enemy, 
thinking  aU  the  while  tha^;  he  was  proceeding  towar4^ 
the  interior  fortifications  of  the  city,  till  at  lai^. 
seeing  the  duke  of  Bourbon's  men  draw  up  to  fiice^ 
the  besieged,  who  they  thought  were  making  asaUy,. 

■  *  Virg.  JEneid.  lib.  ii.  ver.  774.  ^  ' 

j*  Montaigne  shews,  by  this  parenthesis,  tliat  the  term  naturalwt 
-bill  just  adopted  inta  the  French  langua^.  ' 


he  found  his  mistake,  and  turning  abotit  riHxeated 
through  the  same  breach  by  which  he  had  issu^ 
but  not  before  he  h^  advanced  abdve  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  into  the  field  against  the  besi^ers.    It  did  not 
&11  out  quite  so  hi^ppily  for  captain  Julius's  ensigni 
when  St  Pol  was  taken  from  us  by  the  count  de 
Bures  and  M.  de  Reu,  for  he  being  so  ver^  much 
scared  as  to  throw  himself  out  of  the  town,  colours 
and  all,  through  a  port-hole,  he  was  cut  to  pieces  by 
the  besiegers.    At  the  same  siege,  a  gentleman  was 
Seized  with  such  a  fright,  that  he  sunk  down  dead  in 
the  breach  without  any  wound. 
Th«  m»o.     The  like  passion  sometimes  operates  upon  a  whol^ 
prodtt^*  multitude.    In  one  of  Germanicus's  encounters  with 
hrfrmi.    ijie  Germans,  two  great  parties  were  so  intimidated, 
that  they  fled  different  wa3rs,  each  running  to  the 
place  from  which  the  other  set  out    Sometimes  it 
adds  wings  to  the  heels,  as  it  did  to  the  two  first, 
and  sometimes  nails  the  feet  to  the  ground,  and  fet- 
ters them ;  as  we  read  of  the  emperor  Theophilus,^ 
who,  in  a  battle  wherein  he  was  defeated  by  the 
Agaranes,  was  so  astonished  and  stupified,  that  he 
hiMl  no  power  to  fly,  till  Manuel,  one  of  the  chief 
generals  of  his  army,  having  jogged  and  shook  hitti 
so  as  to  rouse  him  out  of  his  trance,  said  to  him, 
*'  Sir,  if  you  will  not  follow  me,  I  will  kill  you ;  foi* 
^*  it  is  better  that  you  should  lose  your  life,  than  by 
*^  being  taken  prisoner  to  lose  your  empire/' 
feu  it         "When  fear,  is  so  violent  as  to  deprive  inen  df  all 
l^^^^  sense,  both  of  duly  and  honour,  it  makes  them  act 
tifctofemtilili^  desperadoes.    In  the  first  ^r  battle  whieh  the 
ttftaiour.  j^QjQimg  ]^(  against  Hannibal,  in  the  consulsbip  of 
Sempronius,t  a  body  of  at  least  10,000  fybtj  which 
had  tajlten  fright,  seeing  no  other  escape  for  their 
cowardice,  forced  their  way  through  the  bulk  of  the 
enemy's  army,  which  they  penetrated  with  prodigiousr 
ii)ry,  and  made  a  great  slaughter  of  the  Cartt»giir 
nians,  by  that  means  piurhasing  an  ignominious 

a  Quintus  Curtius,  lib<  ilL  seeti  1  h         f  titi  Lir.  ]ib«  xxw  esfl.  SSa 


iligfat;  as  dearly  aft  the^  mi^t  hav6  dohe  a  glorioub 
victory. 

The  thing  I  am  most  afraid  of  is,  fear,  becatise  itrtiutpentfi 
is  a  passion  which  Supersedes  and  suspends  all  others. ][^o^|^ 
What  affliction  could  be  greater  and  more  just  than 
that  of  Pompey's  friends,  who  in  his  ship  were  spec^ 
tators  of  that  horrid  massacre  f  yet  so  it  was,  that 
the  fear  of  the  Egyptian  vessels,*  which  they  saw 
approaching,  stifled  that  passion  to  such  a  d^ee, 
that  they  did  nothing  but  press  the  rowers  to  make 
haste  away,  for  fear  of  oeing  surrounded  by  the 
enemy,  till  they  arrived  at  Tyre,  when,  being  deli- 
vered from  their  apprehension,  tliey  had  leisure  to 
turn  their  thoughts  to  the  loss  they  had  so  lately  sus- 
tained, and  gave  vent  to  those  lamentations  and  tears 
which  the  more  prevalent  passion  had  suspended  : 

Turn  pavor  iapieniiam  amnem  mVii  ex  ammo  expectorat.-f  i.  e. 

My  mind,  which  fear  had  then  oppress'd, 
Was  of  all  judgment  dispossess'd*  - 

Such  as  have  been  soundly  thrashed  in  some  skirmish, 
may,  yet  all  bruised  and  bloody  as  they  are,  be 
brought  on  again  nekt  day  to  the  charge ;  but  those 
who  have  once  conceived  a  dread  of  the  enemy,  will 
never  be  brought  so  much  as  to  look  him  in  the  face. 
They  who  are  in  fear  every  day  of  losing  their  estates^ 
of  banjbhment,  or  of  being  made  slaves,  live  in  per- 
petual' anguish,  without  appetite  or  rest;  whertes 
such  as  are  natui^ly  poor  dares  and  exiles,  oflen 
live  as  happy  as  those  in  better  condition.  And  so 
many  people  who,  not  able  to  bear  the  terrors  cf 
fear,  have  hanged,  drowned,  and  thrown  themselves 
from  precipices,  aSord  a  convincing  proof  that  fear 
is  even  more  vexatious  and  insupportable  than  deatilt. 

The  Gteeka  mention  another  kind  of  fear,  pro-Pani< 
ceeduig  from  no  viable  Cause,  but  the  effecft  of  an^*^^' 
impulse  from  heaven ;  so  that  whole  armies  and  na^ 
tions  have  been  struck  with  it;    ^cH  ^bs  that  which 

*  Cicero  Tu9C.  QUegU  lib.  iii.  cap.  27' ,        t  Id*  ^»  br.  cap.  $! 
VOL.  I.  F 


J 


69  man's  HAPFDnESS  NOT  TO  BE 

liroug^t  MO  wondei&l  a  desolation  nptm  Cartilage, 
where  nothing  was  to  be  heard  but  outcnes  suid 
»  ahrieks;  the  inhi^bitants  ran  Out  of  their  houses  as  if 

they  were  ready. to !&11  on  their  heads,  aad  they  at- 
tacKed,  wounded,  and  killed^one  another,  as  if  thegr 
bad  been  so  many  enemies  ^<:ame  to  take  their  city.* 
They  were  aU,  in  short,  in  the  strangest  disorder  fuid 
^istracdoH,  till  by  pj^^y^  &Bd  isaciim^es  they  had  a{K 
peaked  the  angeir  of  the  gods*  This  is  what  they 
call  panic  terrors.t 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

That  we  are  not  to  judge  of  Man* s  Happiness  before 
-'  ■  i  his  Death. 

Expectanda  dies  komini  est,  dicique  beaius 
Ante  ptittm  ninnQ.nipr0niagueJimeru  deiet^X 
:  Till  iDBnfsilaBt  day  it  cmoewe  tfaovid  not  dm. 
Of  happiness  to  4ay  what  t^as  hia  sbatre ; 
Since  or  no  man  can  it  be  truly  said, 
*    .  lliat  he  is  happy  tin  he  fibrst  be  dead. 

jfom^'u  .  ±  HERE  is  scarce  a  boy  at  school  but  knomrs  the 

to  iSju?g-'StoTy  of  king  Ctoestis  to  this  purpose,  who^  being 

cdofufii  takea  prisoner  by  Cyrus,  andcoademiicd  to  suffer 

^i      death,,  cried  out  on  the  soafipld,  O  Solon!   Solon  1$ 

which. being  reported  to  Cyrus,  ^nd  he  inquiring 

/what  it  meant,  <Jrobsus  gave  mm  to  understand,  that 

iie  now  was  convinced,'  to  his.  cost,  of  die  truth  of 

that'waming  which  was  fbrmdrly  given  him  by  Solon, 

viz.  To  caU  no  man  happy,'  how  much  soever  .fortune 

.  -'   '  tmpod  upon  him,*  till  he  md  passed  over  th^  last  day 

of  his  lire,  by  reas^  of  tihie  uacertainky  and  viciasi- 

i  ;  ♦*  I>iqitonMr  of  /Sicily,  lib.  ;cy.  fsxg,  f.,  . . 

I  Id.  ibid,  and  Plutarch  in  his  Treatise  of  Isis  and  Osiris^  cap.  S# 
Ovid. ,  Metam.  lib.  iii.  &b.  2,  ver.  5. 
*«$  Heredot.  lib.  i.  p. iO. 


JtrDGEd  BElPOfiE  I^ATH.  €7 

tude  of  human  affairs,  which  are  apt  to  change,  in  an 
instant,  from  one  condition  te  tihie  opposite.  ,  There* 
fore  it  was,  that  A^eisrilaus  said,  in  answer  to  one  whd 
pronounced  the  tmg  of  Persia  ia  happy  man  fait 
coming  very  yoiing  to  such  A  height  of  power,  "  It 
•*  is  true,  but  neither  was  Priam  at  such  an  i^  un*- 
•*  happy.'**  We  know  that  some  of  the  kings  of 
Macedon,  ^ccessors  ttf  Alexander  the  Great,  were 
reduced  to  be  joiners  and  carpenters  at  Rome ;  a 
tyrant  of  Sicily,  to  be  school-master  at  Corinth ;  a 
conqueror  of  one  half  of  the  world,  and  genera!  of 
many  armies,  a  miserable  supplicant  to  the  beggarly 
officers  of  a  kiiig  of  Egypt*  So  dear  did  the  great 
Pompey  pay  for  a  rieprieve,  of  five  or  six  months, 
from  deatn.  In  the  time  of  our  fathers,  Lewis  Sforza, 
the  tenth  duke  of  Milan,  who  had  so  long  made  dl 
Italy  tremble,  died  iti  prison  at  Loches,t  and  what 
was  worse  for  bim,  he  had  suffered  imprisonment  ten  ^ 
years.  That  ihosi  beautiful  queen,t  the  widow  of/  '•'  * 
the  greatest  king  in  Christendom,  did  not  she  die  by  3  ^  -» 
the  band  of  an  executioner  ?  Base  and  barbarou!» 
cruelty !  and  to  this  might  be  added  a  thousand  more 
instances  of  the  same  kind ;  for,  as  storms  and  tern- 
pests  are  provoked  at  the  pride  and  loftiness  of  ouf 
structures,  it  would  seeni  that  there  are  spirits  above 
which  envy  the  grandeur  of  this  lower  world : 

Usque  adeo  res  humanas  vis  aldiia  qtUBdum 
Obterit,  el  pidckros  fasceSj  scevasque  secures 
Proculcare,  hoc  kmbro  sibi  habere  %ndehir,% 

And  hence  we  ftney  tmssBii  Powbbs  in  tilings, 
Whose  force  and  will  sych  stnuEige  oonfbttDn  brings^ 
And  spurn  and  overthrow  our  greatest  kings* 


• 


Plutarch^  in  his  notable  Sayings  of  the  Lacedfimoniand, 
'   t  In  the  leign  of  Lewis  XII.  who  co&fiudd  him  there,  AxttO  l50a 

X  Maiy  9  queen  of  Scotland,  and  liiodier  of  James  I.  king  of  £t^ 
land,  WW  bi9$eadisd  in  this  kingdom,  by  order  of  queen  £lizabeth,  in 
1587.  Montaigne  surely  wrote  this  long  after  the  passage  in  the  fol« 
lowing  chaDtary  wberehe  tefls  us,  that  the  year  he  then  ^rote  in,  Was 
but  1573;  but  we  do  not  find  this  particular  in  the  quarto  edition  of 
1588. 

(  Lucr.  lib.  v.Ter.  1231,  &c. 


6S  man's  happiness  not  to-  BE 

It  would  seem  also  as  if  fortune  sometimes^  lies  ui 
wait  to  surprise  the  last  day  of  our  lives^  to  show  the 
power  she  nas  in  one  moment  to  overthrow  what  she 
was  so  man^  years  erecting,  and  makes  us  cry  out 
with  Labenus,  Nindrum  hac  die  un4  plus  vLvi  mihi 
guctm  vhepdum  fuit  ;•  i.  e.  I  have  therefore  lived  one 
day  too  long.  And  in  this  sense,  it  were  reasonable 
to  attend  to  the  ^ood  advice  of  Solon  ;  but  he  being 
a  philosopher,  with  which  sort  of  men  the  fiivours 
and  i^owns  of  fortune  stand  for  noting,  either  to 
the  flaking  a  man  happy  or  unhappy,  and  with  whom 
grandeur  and  power,  accidents  of  quality,  are  in  a 
manner  quite  indifferent,  I  am  apt  to  think,  that  he 
had  some  farther  aim,  and  meant,  that  the  very  feli- 
city of  our  lives,  which  depends  on  the  tranquillity 
and  satisfaction  of  a  generous  mind,  and  on  the  re- 
solution and  stability  of  a  well-composed  soul,  ought 
never  to  be  pronounced  as  the  enjoyment  of  any 
man,  till  he  has  been  seen  to  play  the  last,  and 
doubtless  the  hardest  act  of  his  part.  In  all  the  rest 
there  may  have  been  some  disguise.  Either  these 
fine  lessons  of  philosophy  are  only  calculated  to  keep 
us  in  countenance,  or  accidents,  not  touching  us  to 
the  quick,  allow  us  to  preserve  the  same  gravity ;  but  - 
in  tms  last  scene,  betwixt  death  and  us,  there  is  no 
more  playing  tlie  counterfeit,  we  must  speak  plain, 
and  if  there  be  any  purity  and  simplicity  at  the  bot- 
tom, it  must  be  discovered : 

Nam  vene  voces  ittm  demum  peclore  ab  imo 
EjichmlvTf  eteripUurpersofias  manet  res.\ 

For.  then  their  words  will  with  their  thoughts  agree. 
And  all  the  mask  pulFd  off>  show  what  they  be.. 

This  last  act,  therefore,  ought  to  be  the  criterion 
or  touch-stone  by  which  all  the  other  actions  of  our 
life  are  to  be  tried  and  sifted.  It  is  tJie  grand  day,  it 
is  the  day  that  is  judge  of  all  the  rest ;  "  It  is  the 
•*  di^,"  says  one  of  the  ancients,  **  by  which  all  my 

*  Macrobius,  lib.  iL  cap.  7«  f  Lucret.  lib.  iii.  v.  57,  5& 


JUDGED  BEFORE  DEATH.  69 

••  ^ars  past  are  to  be  judged/*  To  death  do  I  sub- 
mit the  trial  of  the  fruit  of  my  studies.  It  will  tlien 
appear  whether  my  discourses  came  ttnly  from  my 
mouth,  or  from  my  heart.  I  have  known  many  who, 
by  their  death,  have  given  a  good  or  a  bad  reputa- 
tion to  their  whole  lives.  Scipio,  the  fiither-in-law  of 
Pompey,*  by  d)ang  well,  expunged  the  ill  opinion 
which  had  till  then  been  conceived  of  him.  Epa- 
minondas  being  interrogated  which  of  the  three  men 
he  had  in  greatest  esteem,  Chabrias,  Iphicrates,  or 
himself  ;t  "  We  must  all  die,**  said  he,  **  before  that 
^  question  can  be  resolved.**  It  would  really  be  do- 
ing vast  injustice  to  that  personage  to  scan  him,  with- 
out considering  how  great  and  honourable  was  his 
end.  The  Almighty  has  ordered  every  thing  as  it 
best  pleased  him  ;  but,  in  my  time,  three  of  the  most 
execrable  persons  that  ever  1  knew,  most  abominably 
vicious,  and  likewise  the  most  in&mous,  died  natural 
deaths,  and,   in  all  circumstances,  perfectly  com- 

Eosed.     There  are  some  deaths  that  are  grave  and 
appy.     I  have  seen  the  thread  t  of  a  person's  life 

*  This  remark  is  taken,  if  I  mistake  not,  from  Seneca.  It  is  a 
pretty  long  passage,  but  so  curious  a  one,  that  I  cannot  help  trans- 
cribing it  here.  Seneca,  desirous  to  fortify  his  friend  against  the 
terrors  of  death,  said  to  him,  in  the  first  place,  *  I  should  prevail  on 

*  you  with  more  ease,  were  I  to  show,  that  not  only  heroes  have  dc^ 

*  pised  the  moment  of  the  soul's  departure  out  of  the  body,  but  that 

*  even  dasitards  have  in  this  matter  equalled  those  of  the  greatest 

*  fortitude  of  mind.'     And  immediately  after  he  adds,  *  Even  like 
^  thm,  Scipio,  the  father-in-law  of  Cn.  Pompey,  who,  being  drove 

*  by  contrary  winds  to  the  coast  of  Africa,  when  he  saw  his  ship  de- 

*  tained  by  the  enemy,  stabbed  himself  with  his  own  sword ;  and  to 

*  those  who  asked  him  where  the  general  was,  said,  **  The  general 
'*  is  welL"    This  word  equalled  hun  to  his  superiors,  and  did  not 

*  sufier  the  glory  fiital  to  the  Scipios  in  Africa  to  be  interrupted.    It 

*  was  a  great  task  to  conquer  Carthage,  but  a  harder  to  conquer 

*  death.'     Seneca,  Epist.  24«  ^ 

f  Plutarch,  in  Msnotsible  Sayings  of  thesncient  kings,  princes, 
ondgener^. 

X  It  is  very  probable,  that  Montaigne  speaks  hereof  hi»  friend 
Boctius,  at  whose  death  he  was  present,  as  appears  by  a  speecft  which 
Montaigne  caused  to  be  printed  at  Paris,  in  1 571 »  wherein  he  men- 
tions the  most  remarkable  particulars  of  Boetius's  sickness  and  death. 
As  this  speech  does  honour  to  both  these  eminent  friends,  and  is 
bettome  very  scarce,  I  shaQ  insert  it  bcr^aitat; 


70  THE  STUDY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

ci|t  in  Ms  progress  to  ,wondetfiil  advancement,  an* 
in  the  prime  of  his  years,  who  made  so  glorious  ait 
exit,  that,  in  my  opinion,  his  ambitious  and  courage- 
ous projects  had  nothing  so  sublime  in  them,  as  tlie 
manner  in  which  be  bore  their  interruption ;  and  he 
arrived,  without  completing  his  course,  at  the  place 
he  proposed,  with  more  grandeur  and  glory,  than  he 
could  desire  or  hope  for ;  anticipating,  by  his  fell, 
the  feme  and  power  to  which  he  aspir^  in  his  career.^ 
In.  the  judgment  I  fortn  of  another  man^s  life,  I? 
^ways  observe  how  he  behaves  at  the  end  of  it ;  and' 
the  chief  study  of  my  own,  is,  that  my  latter  end 
may  be  decent^  calm,  and  silent.  ^ 


CHAPTER  XIX, 

That  tie  who  studies  Philasaphy^  karns  to  die. 

wbttHithe  V/ICERO  says,  "  That  the  study  of  philosophy  is 
%\\oj!  **  nothing  more  or  less  than  a  man's  preparation  for 
phgr,  **  his  death."  The  reason  of  which  is,  because  study 
and  contemplation  do  in  some  sort  witJidraw  and  em- 
ploy the  som  apart  from  the  body,  which  is  a  kind  of 
discipline  for  death,  and  a  resemblance  of  it ;  or  else, 
because  all  the  wdsdom  and  reasoning  in  the  world 
terminates,  in  this  point,  to  teach  us  not  to  fear  to 
die.  And  to  say  the  trutih,  either  our  reason  abuses 
us,  or  it  ought  to  have  no  other  aim  but  our  satisfec- 
tion,  and  no  other  exercise,  in  short,  but  to  make  us  , 
live  well,  and,  as  the  holv  Scripture  says,*  at  our 
ease«  The  opinions  of  all  manlkind  agree  in  this, 
that  pleasure  is  our  end,  though  men  use  divers. 
means  to  attain  to  it,  otherwise  they  would  be  re- 
jected as  soon  as  started ;  for  who  would  give  ear  to^ 
a  man  that  should  establish  our  affliction  and  misery 
for  his  end  ?  The  disputes  of  the  philosophic  sects 

«  Ecdesiastes^  chap.  iil.  ver.  12.    *  I  know  that  there  is  no  good 
^  in  them,  but  for  a  man  to  rejoice  and  do  good  inhtslife** 


TBilCHSS  US  TO  DiE.  7 1 

in  this  poiAt  are  merely  verbal,  Transcurramu4  sokr* 
tisskBits  nuges  ;*  i.  e.  Let  us  skip  over  those  learned 
trifles,  in  which  there  is  more  obstinacy  and  ^b<^ 
bling  than  is  consistent  with  so  sacred  a  profession } 
£>r  what  character  soever  a  man  undertakes  to  per-; 
senate,  he  ever  mixes  his  own  part  with  it. 

Let  aU  die  philosophers  say  what  they  will,  the  How  pica. 


sore  it  the 


and 


mark  at  which  we  all  aim,  even  in  virti^e  itself,  isaiu 

pleasure.  I  love  to  rattle  this  word  in  their  earsyf^^of 
because  it  is  so  very  grating  to  them  $  and  if  it  de-^  "^^^ 
notes  any  supreme  delight,  or  excessive  satisfaction, 
it  is  more  owio^  to  the  assistance  of  virtue,  than  to 
any  other  aid«  This  pleasure,  for  being  more  gav, 
nervous,  robust,  and  manly,  is  onty  the  more  seriously 
voluptufHis ;  and  we  ouf  ht  to  give  it  the  name  of 
pleasure,  as  that  which  is  more  fiivourable,  ge&tle, 
and  natural ;  not  that  of  vigour,  from  which  we  have 
denominated  it  The  other  more  sordid  pleasure,  if 
it  deserved  so  fair  a  name,  it  oupht  to  be  upon  ac» 
count  of  concurrence,  not  by  privilege.  1  do  not 
think  it  less  free  from  inconveniences  and  crosses 
than  virtue.  Besides  that  the  enjoyment  of  it  is 
more  momentary  and  unsubstantial  j  it  has  its  watch- 
hfigs,  firatings,  and  labours,  even  to  sweat  and  blood  \ 
and  moreover  has  so  many  several  sorts  of  wounding 
passions  in  particular,  and,  so  stupid  a  satiety  attend-^ 
mg  it,  that  it  is  as  bad  as  doing,  penance.  We  are 
very  much  ^mistaken  in  supposipg  that  its  ihconveni^ 
enccs  serve  as  a  spur  to  it,  and  as  a  seasoning  for  itsii 
sweetness,  as  we  see  in  nature,  that  one  contrary  is 
quickened  by  another ;  and  to  say,  when  wcf  opme  to 
virtue,  that  the  like  consequences  and  difficulties 
overwhelm  it,''and  render  it  austere  an4  inaccessible ; 
whereas,  much  more  aptlv  than  in  voluptuousness, 
they  ennoble,  sharpen,  atid  hcSjghten  the  divine  and 
perfect  pleasure  which  virtue  procures  us.  He  is 
certainly  very  unworthy  of  being  acquainted  with  it, 
who  weighs  the  expense  i^sdnst  die  profit,  and  knows 

*  Seneca,  epnC*  117* 


7d  THE  STUDY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

neither  its  charms  nor  how  to  use  it.  They  wha 
^  preach  to  us  that  the  pursuit  of  it  is  rugged  ana  pain- 
ful, but  the  fruition  pleasant,  what  do  they  mean,  but 
fhat  it  is  always  disagreeable?  For  what  human 
means  ever  arrived  to  the  attainment  of  it?  The 
most  perfect  have  been  forced  to  content  themselves 
with  aspiring  to  it,  and  to  approach,  without  ever 
possessing  it.  Of  all  the  pleasures  which  we  know^ 
the  very  pursuit  of  them  is  pleasant.  The  attempt 
savours  of  the  quality  of  the  thing  which  it  has  in 
view.  The  felicity  and  rectitude  which  shines  in 
virtue,  fills  up  all  its  apartments  and  avenues  even 
from  its  first  entrance  to  its  utmost  limits. 
TiiB  eon-  One  of  the  chief  benefits  of  virtue  is,  the  con- 
^fhw€  tempt  of  death,  an  advantage  which  accommodates 
of  tiMpiin.  human  life  with  a  sofl  and  easy  tranquillity,  and  gives 
^u^fTlrT'.us  a  pure  and  amiable  taste  of  it,  without  which 
♦»«•  every  other  pleasure  is  extinct ;  which  is  the  reason 
why  all  the  rules  of  philosophy  centre  and  concur  in 
this  one  article.  And  though  they  all  unanimously 
teach  us  in  like  manner  to  despise  sorrow,  poverty, 
and  other  accidents  to  which  tne  life  of  man  is  sud« 
ject,  yet  they'  are  not  so  solicitous  about  it,  not  only 
because  these  accidents  do  not  so  necessaitly  require 
it,  many  men  passing  their  whole  lives  without  feel- 
ing poverty,  sickness,  or  sorrow,  as  Xenophilus,*  the 
musician,  who  lived  to  the  age  of  a  hundred  and  six, 
in  perfect  health ;  but  also  because  at  the  worst, 
death  can,  whenever  he  pleases,  cut  short,  and  put  an 
end  to  all  other  inconveniences :  but  as  to  death  it  is 
inevitable: 

Omnes  eodemcogtTmtr;  omnium 
VersatvT  urna ;  seriuSf  ocyus 
Sots  exituroy  et  nos  in  cetemum 
Esdlium  imposUura  c%imbm.\  i.  e. 

*  Omnk  kumani  incommodi  espers^  (says  Valerius  Maximus,  Kb* 
Viii*  dap.  IS,  in  Externis^  sect.  3.)  in  summo perfectimma  splendore 
idoctfin^eexHnclus  est ;  u  e.  Anber  having  lived  free  from  every 
human  ailment,  he  dic^  in  the  liighest  reputation  of  bebg  perfect 
master  of  his  science. 

f  H6r.  lib.  ii,  ode  iii:  yer.^., 


TEACHES  US  TO  DIE.  73 

To  the  same  &te  we  must  all  yield  hy  tarn,, 
Sooner  or  later^  all  must  to  tlie  um  : 
When  Charon  calls  aboard^  we  must  not  stay^ 
JBut  to  eternal  e^le  sail  away. 

By  consequence,  if  it  fright  us^  it  is  a  continual  tor- 
ment, of  which  there  can  be  no  mitigation;  and 
there  is  no  way  by  which  we  can  possibly  avoid  it. 
We  may  incessantly  turn  our  heads  this  way  and  that 
way,  as  if  we  were  in  a  suspicious  countty,  gu^  quasi 
saxum  Tantaloj  semper  impendct^^  i.  e,  like  the  rock 
<>f  Tantalus,  it  always  hangs  over  our  heads,  ready 
to  fell.  Our  courts  of  justice  often  sent  coifideinned 
criminals  to  be  executed  at  the  place  where  the  fact 
was  committed :  and  w^re  thpy  to  be  carried  to  all 
the  fine  houses  by  the  way,  and  entertained  with  as 
good  cheer  as  you  pl^ase^ 

nnn  SicuUs  dapes 

Dulcem  elaboralnmt  saporem : 

Non  avium  dtharceque  cantos 
Somnum  reducent.f 

Tlie  best  Sicilian  dainties  would  not  please. 

Nor  yet  of  birds,  or  harps,  the  harmonies 

Once  charm  asleep,  or  dose  their  watdiful  eyes* 

Do  vou  think  it  would  make  them  merry,  or  that  the 
fetal  end  of  their  journey  being  continually  before 
their  eyes,  would  not  deprave  their  tastes,  so  as  to 
have  no  relish  for  any  of  these  delicacies: 

j4udlt  iter  numeraique  dies,  spaiioque  viarum 
Mt'titur  vitam,  iotquetur  peste  Jutura^X  i*  e. 
He  time  and  space  computes  by  length  of  ways^ 
Sums  up  the  number  of  his  few  dark  days; 
And  his  sad  thoughts,  fiill  of  his  faoil  doom. 
Have  room  for  nothing  but  the  blow  to  come. 

The  end  of  oiu:  race  is  death ;  it  is  the  necessary 
olgect  of  our  view,  which,  if  it  frights  us,  how  is  it 
possible  we  should  advance  a  step,  without  a  fit  of 
an  ague  ?  the  remedy  which  the  vulgar  use  is  not  to 

.  *  Cic.  de  Finib.  lib.  i.  cap.  18.        f  Hor.  lib.  iii.  ode i.  ver.  18,&c. 
;f  Claud,  lib.  iL  ver.  137, 138* 


74  THE  aTUDY  OF  PHILOSOTHT 

think  of  it :  but  frbm  what  brutish  stupidity  can  they 
be  so  grossly  blind  ?  they  must  bridle  die  ass  by  the 
tail. 

Qui  capite  ipse  sifo  instituit  vestigia  retroJ^ 

He  who  the  order  of  his  steps  has  laid, 
To  light,  and  nat'ral  motion  retrogade. 

It  is  no  wonder  if  he  be  often  taken  in  the  snare« 
Our  people  are  frightened  at  the  bare  mention  of 
death,  and  many  cross  themselves  at  it,  as  if  it  were 
tlie  name  of  the  devil.  Because  tliere  is  mention  made 
of  death  in  last  wills  and  testaments,  you  are  not  to  ex- 
pect they  will  set  their  hands  to  them  till  the  physi- 
itian  has  utterly  given  them  over :  and  then,  betwixt 
grief  and  terror,  what  excellent  judgment  they  have 
to  carve  for  you,  God  only  knows !  The  Romans, 
observing  that  this  monosyllable,  death,  was  very 
shocking  to  the  people^s  ears,  and  that  they  thought 
it  an  ominous  sound,  found  out  a  way  to  sofien  it, 
and  to  express  it  periphrastically,  and  instead  of  say- 
ing, in  plain  terms,  such  a  one  is  dead,  to  say, 
such  a  one  has  lived,  or  has  ceased  to  live :  for  if  the 
word  life  was  but  mentioned,  though  past,  yet  it  was 
some  comfort.  From  hence  we  have  borrowed  oup 
phrase.  The  late  Mr.  John,  &c.  Peradventure,  as 
the  saying  is.  If  the  term  is  worth  my  money.!  I 
was  bom  betwixt  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock  at  noon, 
on  the  last  day  of  February,  1533,  as  we  now  com- 
pute, beginning  the  year  with  Janu^,  and  it  is  now 
just  a  fortnight  since  I  was  complete  thirty-nine  years 
of  age.  It  is  not  certain,  at  least,  but  I  may  live  as 
many  more  ;  vet  not  to  think  of  a  thing  so  remote, 
would  be  folly.  For  why  ?  the  young  and  the  old 
quit  life  ujpon  the  same  terips,  and  no  one  departs 
out  pf  it,  otherwise  than  if  he  had  but  just  before  en- 

*  Lucrct,  lib.  iv.  v.  d-T^. 

f  This  proverb  is  mostly  used  by  such  as,  having  borrowed  mo- 
pey  for  a  long  term,  take  no  care  for  the  payment,  Hattcring  theni- 
veives  that  something  will  happen,  in  the  mean  time,  for  their  be- 
nefit or  discharge. 


^TEACHES  US  TO  DIE.  95 

tered  into  it ;  mbredvcr,  there  is  no  man  so  very  oM, 
who  thinks  of  Methusalem,  but  imagines  he  has  still 
a  constitution  for  twenty  years  longer.  Biit,  tliou 
ibol !  who  has  ensured,  or  radier  assured,  unto  thee 
the  term  of  thy  life  ?  Aou  believest  what  the  physi- 
cians say ;  but  rather  consult  £tct  and  experience. 
According  to  the  common  course  of  things,  it  is  an 
extraordinary  favour  thou  hast  lived  so  long.  Thou 
hast  already  exceeded  the  ordinary  term  of  life ;  and 
that  thou  may3t  be  convinced  of  this,  do  but  call  to 
mind  thy  acquaintance,  and  reckon  up  how  many 
more  have  died  before  tiiey  arrived  at  thy  age,  than 
ever  attained  to  it.  Do  but  make  a  register  of  such, 
even  whose  lives  have  been  distinguished  with  fame, 
and  I  will  lay  a  wager,  that  more  have  died  under 
thirty-five  years  of  age  than  above  it.  It  is  highly 
rational,  and  pious  too,  to  take  example  by  the  hu- 
man existence  of  Jesus  Chhist  himself,  who  ended 
his  life  at  thirty-three  years  of  age.  The  greatest 
man,  too,  that  ever  was,  of  mere  men,  viz.  Me%* 
ander,  died  also  at  the  same  age.  How  many  wa}'8 
has  death  to  surprise  us  ? 

Quid  quisque  videt,  nunquam  hommi  satis : 
Cauium  est  in  Iioras/*  i.  e. 

What  met)  should  shtm  is  never  knows. 
We,  unprovided,  are  undone  : 

Man  fain  would  shun,  but  'tis  not  in  his  pow*F 
T*  evade  the  dangers  of  each  threatening  hour. 

To  omit  ieversr  and  pteuri^es^^  wlio  would  ever  have 
imagined,  that  a  duke  of  Brittany  should  be  pressed 
to  death  in  a  crowd,  as  one  was  in  1305,  in  the  reign 
of  Fliilip  the  Fair,  at  pope  Clement's  entry  into 
Lyons  ?  Have  we  not  seien  one  of  our  kings  t  killed 
ftt  his  diversion,  and  one  of  his  ancestors  die  by  being 

♦  Horace,  lib.  ii.  ode  13.  ver.  13, 14. 

f  Henry  II.  (of  France)  mortally  wounded  in  a  tonmament  by 
the  count  ae  Montgomery,  one  of  the  captains  of  his  guards. 


76  THE  STUDY  OP  PHILOSOPHT 

pushed  down  by  a  hog?*  jEschylus,  being  threatened 
by  the  fall  of  a  house,  ran  out  of  it  into  the  fields^ 
where  he  was  knocked  on  the  head  by  a  sheU-&h 
which  an  eagle  dropped  from  its  talons.t  Another, 
viz.  Anacrcon,  was  choked  with  a  grape  stone  ;t 
an  emperor  died  by  the  scratch  of  a  comb,  in  comb- 
ing his  head.  5  JBmilius  Lepidus  lost  his  life  by  a 
stumble  at  his  own  threshold ;  atid  Aufidius  lost  his 
life  b)r  a  jostle  against  the  door  as  he  entered  tlie 
council  chamber.  ||  Cornelius  Gallus,  the  praetor ; 
Tigillinus,  captain  of  the  watch  at  Rome  ;  Ludovico, 
'  son  of  Guido  de  Gonzaga,  marquis  of  Mantua,^ilx£^ 
'  .♦  betwixt  the  very  thighs  of  a  woman.  And  a  worse 
instance  oftliis  was,  Speusippus,5r  a  platonic  philo- 
sopher, and  one  of  our  popes.  The  poor  judge  Be- 
bius,  during  the  reprieve  oi  eight  days  which  he  gave 
to  a  criminal,  was  himself  seized,  and  lost  his  life.** 
Whilst  Caius  Julius,  the  physician,  was  anointing 
the  eye  of  his  patient,  death  closed  his  own.tt  And, 
to  come  nearer  home,  a  brother  of  mine,  captain  St. 
Martin,  who  had  already  given  sufficient  proofs  pf 
his  valour,  though  but  three  and  twenty  years  of  Btge> 
playing  at  tennis,  received  a  blow  from  the  ball,  just 
above  his  right  ear,  which  made  no  scar  nor  contu- 
sion, so  that  he  did  not  so  much  as  sit  down,  or  rest 
himself  upon  it ;  vet,  in  five  or  six  hours  after,  he 
died  of  an  apoplexy,  occasioned  by  that  stroke. 
These  examples  being,  as  we  see,  so  frequent  and 
common,  how  is  it  possible  that  a  man  can  disengage 

*  FhQip,  or,  as  Bome  say,  Lewis  VII.  sob  of  Lewk  ie  Gros,  who 
was  crowned  in  the  life-time  of  his  father. 

f  Valerius  Maximus,  lib.  ix.  cap.  12,  inextemis,  cap.  2. 

j:  Plin.  Nat.  Hist.  Ub.'viL  cap.  53.  §  Ibid.  sect.  8. 

B  Ibid.  lib.  vli.  cap.  53. 

^  Tertullian  affinns  this,  bat  without  muqh  foundation.  Audio» 
says  he,  in  his  Apoloeetic,  cap.  46,  that  Speusippus,  one  of  Plato's 
disciples,'  died  wnile  lie  was  committing  adultery.  As  to  the  death 
of  Speusippus,  Diogenes  Lacrtius  says,  That,  being  shattered  with 
I  a  violent  palsy,  and  broke  down  with  the  weight  of  old  age  aod 
vexation,  ne  at  last  put  an  end  to  his  own  life. 

♦♦  Pliny's  Nat.  Hist,  lib.vii.  cap.53.  ff  Ibid. 


TEACHES  US  tO  DIE.  77 

himself  from  the  thoughts  of  death,  or  avoid  fincying 
that  it  is  ready  every  moment  to  take  us  by  the  coU 
lar  ?     What  does  it  signify,  you  will  say,  which  way  ( 
it  comes  to  pass,  provided  a  man  does  not  torment  \ 
himself  with  the  apprehension  xxf  it  ?    I  am  of  this  ^ 
opinion,  that  if  a  man  could  by  any  means  screen 
himself  from  it,  he  would,  though  it  were  by  a  calPs 
skin.    I  am  not  the  man  that  would  flinch,  fox  all  I 
desire  is  to  be  compose^  and  the  best  recreation 
that  I  can  give  myself,  Ttake  hold  of,  be  it  as  inglor 
rious  and  un&shionable  as  you  please :  ' 

Preiulerim  delirus  mersque  viderij 
Dum  mea  delectani  nuila  mc^  vel  deniquefaUofU, 
Quam  sapere,  et  rmgi.*  i«  e. 

I  would  be  rather  thought  a  doating  wight. 

If  my  own  errors  my  own  self  delight, 

Tlian  know  they're  such,  and  owe  myself  a  spight. 

Or,  .      • 

A  fool,  or  sluggard,  let  me  censur'd  be, 
Whibt  my  own  fiiults  delight  or  cozen  me. 
Rattier  than  know  them  such,  and  feel  the  shame. 
That  my  performances  have  hurt  my  fame. 

But  it  is  a  folly  to  think  of  carrying  the  point  by  that 
means.  People  go  and  come ;  they  gad  abroad,  and 
dance,  and  not  a  word  of  death.  All  this  is  fine ;  but 
when  it  comes  either  to  themselves,  wives,  children, 
or  friends,  surprising  them  unawares,  what  torments 
do  they  feel,  what  outcries  do  they  make,  what  mad- 
ness and  despair  possess  them !  did  ever  you  see  any  . 
people  so  dejected,  so  changed,  and  so  confounded  ? 
jDiere  is  an  absolute  necessity  therefore  of  making 
more  early  preparation  fi>r  it.  And  we  slKiuld  pay 
too  dear  for.  the  neglect,  could  any  man  be  supposed 
so  void  of  sense  as  to  be  guilty  of  it,  which  I  think 
utterly  impossible.  Were  it  an  enemy  that  a  man 
could  escape  jBrom,  I  would  advise  him  to  borrow  the 
armour  even  of  cowardice  itself  for  that,  purpose ; 
but,  seeing  it  is  not  to  be  avoided,  and  that  it  catches 

*  Hor.  IS),  ii.  ep..2.  vcr.  126. 


TS  tHis.tTU»r  to  raataao^HT 

the  runaway  and  the  pottnxsa,  aa  well  las  the  gallant 
man: 

Mots  etfiigacefn  persetfmiur  vintm^ 
Nee  parcii  imbeUis  jtwenttx 

PoplUibuSf  iimiioque  iergoJ^  t.  e* 

No  speed  of  foot  prevents  6fM\\  of  his  prize, 
*He  cut  the  hamstrings  of  ttie  man  that  flies  ; 
VoT  4Mire<  the  feoriul  jtripUng*«  trade,  who  sfeaits 
To  ruD  beyoiK)  the  re^ch  of  all  its  darts. 

I^orasmuch  also  as  there  is  no  armour  proof  enough 
to  secure  us, 

Elelidifkrro^  eauius  se  condai^  H4Bre 

Mors  tamen  imlusum  protrahet  inde  cafnU.f  u  ۥ 

Though  arm'd  with  steel,  or  brass,  against  his  ftte. 
Death  will  his  soul  and  body  separate.    . 

let  US  learn  bravely  to  stand  our  ground  against  its 
attack :  and  that  we  may,  in  the  first  place,  deprive 
it  of  the  greatest  advantage  it  has  over  us,  let  us  take 
a  course  quite  contrary  to  the  common  way.  Let 
us  disarm  it  of  its  strangeness  ;  let  us  converse  and 
be  iamiliar  with  ft,  and  iiatne  nothing  so  frequent  in 
our  thoughts  as  death ;  let  us,  at  every  turn,  repre- 
sent it  to  our  imagination,  and  view  it  in  all  aspects. 
At  the  stumbling  of  a  horse,  at  the  fall  of  a  tile  upon 
our  heads,  or  the  least  prick  of  a  pin,  let  us  make 
this  reflection  at  the  very  instant.  Well,  and  what  if 
it  had  been  death  itself  f  And  therev^n  let  us  hard- 
en wad  fortify  oursdvi^.  Amidst  all  our  lasting  and 
jollity,  let  us  evermore  curb  ourselves  with  the  re- 
membraiice  of  our  condition,  and  not  suffer  ourselves 
io  be  so  far  transported  widi  pleasure,  as  to  forget 
2iow  many  ways  this  merriment  of  oiirs  exposes  us  to 
death,  and  with  how  many  dang^s  it  threatens  us^. 
This  was  the  practice  of  the  Egyptians,  who,  in  the 
hdi^t  of  their  ieastings  and  carousals,  caused  the 

*  Hor.  lib.  ill.  ode  2.  ver.  14,  &c. 

t  Propert.  lib.iii.  eleg.  IS,  Ter25,  96W 


i     Tfticmw  VB  TO  itfi;.  ^  -  ^ 

dried' skefeton  of  a  ms^i  to  beJbroi^gibt  mtp  theroom^ 
to  serve  for  a  memento  to  their  gaesta.^ 

(Xmnem  crededian  tiU  dUupcisse  supfemum  y 
Grata  supervemei,  qiuB  nm  spercuntwr  honu  t  i«  ^ 
Think  ev'iy  rising  sua  will  he  ihjr  last  f         ' 
And  then  the  next  day's  light  thine  i^yea^  shall  see. 
As  unexpected,  will  more  welcome  be. 

Where  death  wBits  for  us,  is  uncertain ;  therefore 
Jet  us  look  for  it  eveiy  where.  The  premeditation  of 
death  IS.  the  premeditation  oflibert^*  He  who  has 
learned  to  die,  has  forgot  what  it  is  to  be  a  slave- 
T)ier^  is  po  siich  thing  as  evil  in  life  to  hhn,  who 
rightly  jCjomprehendS)  that  the  being  deprived  of  life 
is  not  aa  evil.  The  knowing  how  to  die,  frees  U3 
fi-om  all  subjectiop  and  constraint.  When  the  un- 
happy king  qt  Macedon,  who  was  Paulus  ^Smilius'ls 
prisoner,  pqnt  to  entreat  him  that  he  would  not  lead 
fiitn  in  triumph,  the  latter  made  answer,  that  truly  ^ 
is  i^i  your  owi»  power,  t  In  truth,  if  nature  does  not 
iend  a  little  assistance  in  all  things,  it  will  be  difficult 
for  art  and  industry  to  make;  any  progress.  I  am  my- 
self not  melancholy,  but  thoughuul,  and.  there  is  no- 
.thing  whiph  I  have  more  frequently  entertained  my- 
self with,  than  the  ideas  of  death,  even  in  the  most 
licentious  ^^eason  of  my  life,  in  the  pleasant  spiling*  of 
florid  ^ge : 

Juaadum  cum  aiasjhrida  vir  agera.^ 

In  the  company  of  ladies,  and  in  the  height  of 
play,  some  hive,  perhaps,  thought  me  brooding  up- 
on jealousy, '  or  on  the  uncertainty  of  some  hope, 
while  1/was  ehtertaininff  myself  with  the  remem- 
brance of  some  person  who  was  lately  surprised  with 
a  fever  which  carried  him  off  after  an  entertainment 
like  this,  ^hen  his  head  was  full  of  idle  fancies,  love, 

*  Herodotus,  lib.  ii.  p^  I3S.        f  Hor.  lib.  if  epist  i,  ver.  13,  l^ 
^     X  PluUirchy  in  the  life  of  ^millus,  ch.  17.  of  Ainyof  s  traofr- 
lation.    Cic.  Tubc;  Qusst  lib.  v.  cap.  40. 
j. Ci[^iis,  ep.  qs,  ver.  16.        . 


80  THE  BTtTDY  OF  POnOMPHf 

aAd  jofitty,  as  mine  was  thto,  and  that  thefeferr  I 
had  the  more  to  answer  for: 

Jamfiieriif  tmc  postuhquam  retfocare  licebU.^  u  e. 

Ere  while  he  had  a  being  aiDongstmen, 
Vcm  fgOMy  and  ne'er  to  be  reaitl*d  again. 

Yet  that  thought  did  not  add  a  wrinkle  to  my  fore- 
head more  than  any  other.  It  is  impossible  but  such 
;^maginati6ns  must,  at  their  first  conception,  sting 
/  us ;  but  by  often  revolving  them  in  our  minds,  and 
{  maJdng  them  familiar  to  us,  they  are  sur6  at  the  long- 
Trun  to  lose  their  sting:  otherwise,  for  my  part,  I 
'  should  have  been  in  a  perpetual  fright  and  frenzy ;  for 
never  was  a  man  so  distrustful  of  his  life,  never  man  so 
indifferent  about  its  duration.  Neither  the  health 
which  I  have  hitherto  enjoyed  with  great  vigour,  and 
with  little  interruption,  prolongs,  nor  does  sickness 
contract  my  hopes  of  life.  Methinks,  I  have  an  es- 
cape every  minute,  and  it  eternally  runs  in  my  mind, 
whatever  may  fall  out  another  day,  may  as  well  hap- 
pen to-day.  Hazards  and  dangers  do,  in  truth,  lit- 
tle or  nothing  hasten  our  end ;  and  if  we  consider 
how  many  more  remain  and  hang  over  our  heads,  be- 
sides the  accident  that  seems  to  threaten  us  immedi- 
ately, we  shall  find  tliat  the  sound  and  the  sick,  tliose 
who  are  at  sea,  and  those  who  are  at  land,  those  who 
are  abroad  in  the  wars,  and  those  who  enjoy 
tranquillity  at  home,  are  the  one  as  near  death  as  the 
Other.  No  man  Ls  more  frail  than  the  other,  nor 
more  certain  of  the  mdrrow.t  For  any  thing  I  have 
to  do  before  I  die,  I  should  think  the  longest  leisure 
short  to. finish  it,  if  it  took  but  an  hour's  time.  A 
certain  person,  the  other  day,  looking  into  my 
table-book,  wondered  to  find  a  memorandum  in 
it  of  something  that  I  would  have  done  aflcr 
my  death ;  upon  which  I  told  him  the  real  truths 
tfaiat  thoujgh  I  was  no  more  than  a  league  from  my 
house,  and  at  that  tune  in  good^health  and  spirits, 

^  Lucret.  lib.iiL  ver«928*  f  SenQca,  ep.9# 


TSACHES  US  TO  DIE*  ^l  - 

yet  when  that  thing  came  into  my  head,  I  made 
haste  to  write  it  down  there,  because  I  was  not  cer-    • 
tain  to  live  to  get  home.     As  I  am  a  man  that  am  , 
continually  brooding  over  my  o\vn  thoughts,    and  )  i 
keep  them  close  to  myself,  I  am  prepared,  at  alH  * 
hours,  for  what  may  happen,  and  uie  approach  of 
death  will  be  no  novelty  to  me.    We  should  always,  > 
as  far  as  possible,  be  booted,  and  ready  to  depart}! 
and  be  careful,  above  all  things,  to  have  no  business  \ 
to  do  then  but 'our  own :)   '     ' 

Qwd  brevi  fortes  jaculamur  eevo 
MuUa?*  i.e. 

Why  cut'st  thou  out  such  mighty  work.  Tain  man, 
Whose  life's  short  date 's  coroprb'd  in  one  short  span  ? 

For  we  shall  find  work  enough  to  do  there  with- 
out any  addition.  One  man  complains  the  more  of 
death,  because  it  stops  his  career  to  a  glorious  vic^ 
tory ;  another,  that  he  must  be  snatched  away  be- 
fore he  has  married  his  daughter,  or  made  a  settle- 
ment on  his  young  children ;  a  third  laments  that  he 
must  part  from  his  dear  wife ;  a  fourth,  that  he  must 
leave  nis  son  :  as  if  these  were  the  chief  comforts  of 
life.  For  my  part,  I  am  at  this  instant,  thanks  be 
to  God,  in  such  a  state,  that  I  am  ready  to  quit  my 
being,  whenever  it  shall  please  him,  without  an^ 
manner  of  regret.  I  am  quite  disengaged  from  the 
world ;  my  leave  is  soon  taken  of  all  but  myself.  Ne* 
ver  was  any  man  prepared  to  bid  adieu  to  the  worlds 
absolutely  and  purely,  nor  did  any  one  ever  quit  his 
hold  of  it  more  imiversally  than  I  hope  to  do.  The 
deadest  deatihs  are  the  best.t  ^ 

•  Horace,  ode  16,  hVii.  Ver.  17»  Ip. 

f  Death  il^  here  considered  as  the  introduction,  and  actual  pas- 
sage to  a  state  of  insensibility^  which  puts  a  period  to  our  life.  The 
more  silently  and  rapidly  we  arrive  to  that  state,  the  less  ought  the 
passage  to  terrify  us.  This  comes  up  very  near  to  the  import  of  that 
bold  and  enigmatical  expression  of  MoBtaigne,  yjbL  **  Thai  the 
•*  deadest  dea£sare  the  best. 
VOL.  U  G 


»S  T&E  STUDT  OF  PfilLOSOPHt 

— '^Mlser,  0  miser  (aiuntj  mnnia  adetkit  -. 
Vila  dies  infesta  mihi  lot  prtemia  vitce.*  i.  e* 

Wretch  that  I  am  (they  cry)  one  fatal  day 
So  many  joys  o/  life  has  snatched  awayw 

And  the  builder^ 

Maneni  (ait  ille)  operd  interrupiaj  mtneeaue 

Murorum  ingmieSf  Ofquataque  machine  coelof.  \ 

Stupendous  piles  (says  he)  unfiuish'd  lie^ 

Ana  towers,  who^  summits  touch  the  vaulted  sky. 

A  man  must  form  no  design  that  will  take  so  much 
time  to  finish  it,  or  that  at  least  he  will  be  so  passion-^ 
ately  desirous  of  seeing  brought  to  a  conclusion. 
We  are  born  for  action: 

Cum  maridr,  medium  solvar  et  inter  opus.  %  u  Cr 

When  death  shall  come,  it  me  will  find 
Employed  in  something  I  design'd. 

I  would  always  have  a  man  to  be  doin^,  and  spinning 
out  the  offices  of  life  as  far  as  possible;  and  that, 
though  death  should  seize  me  planting  my  cabbages, 
I  should  not  be  concerned  at  it,  and  much  less  for 
leaving  my  garden  unfinished.  I  know  one  who,  on 
his  dcatli-bed,  complained  incessantly  of  his  destiny 
for  cutting  off  the  tiiread  of  a  chronicle  he  was  then 
compiling,  when  he  was  advanced  no  farther  than 
the  fifteenth  or  sixteenth  of  our  kings. 

Ubtd  in  his  relms  von  addunt^  nee  tibi  eamm     . 
Jam  desiderium  rerum,  svpervnsidei  una,§  i.  e» 

They  tell  us  not,  that  dying  we've  no  more 
The  same  desire  of  things  as  heretofore. 

We  are  to  divest  ourselves  of  these  vtilgar  and  nox- 
ious humours*  To  this  very  purpose  it  was,  said  Ly- 
curgus,  that  men  appointed  their  burial-places  nigh 
the  churches,  td  accustom  the  common  people,  wo- 

'  *  Lucret  lib.  iif.  ver.  911 ,  912.    f  Virg,  iEn^id.  Iflj.  iv.  ver*88, 89. 

±  Ovid.  Amor.  lib.  ii.  eleg.  10,  ver,  36. 
'  J  Lucret,  lib.iiL  ver.  913,  9H. 


\ 
\ 


tEACHCS  Ud  TO  DUS*  «0 

tntn  and  duldren^  so  much  to  the  vie^  of  the  dfead 
bodies,  that  they  might  not  be  startled,  and  to  the 
end  that  the  continual  sight  of  bones,  graves,  and 
funerals,  might  put  us  in  mind  of  our  mortality  t 

Quin  etiam  exhilarare  viris  cbnvivia  cc^e 
Mas  olim^  et  miscere  epulis  spectaadd  dird 
CertcUumferrOj  sape  et  super  ipsa  cadenluni 
Pocidaf  respersis  turn  parco  sanguine  memis.*  i.  a 

Twas  therefore  that  the  ancients,  at  their  feasts, 
Widi  tragic  slaughter  us'd  to  treat  their  ^ests ; 
Making  their  fencers,  with  their  utmost  spite^ 
Skill,  force,  and  fury,  in  their  presence  fight : 
Till  streams  of  blood  o'erflow'd  the  Spacious  liall. 
Staining  their  tables,  drtnking-cups^  and  dll; 

As  the  Egyptians,  after  their  feasts/ presented  their 
company  with  an  image  of  death,  which  was  brought 
in  by  one  that  cried  out  to  them,  Drink  and  be  mer^ 
ry,  for  such  wilt  thou  be  when  thou  art  dead;  so 
have  I  made  it  a  practice,  not  .only  to  have  de^th  in 
my  imagination,  but  continually  in  my  mouth  ;  ^^s^ 
therej£iWJlhiEg  c^^  th© 

»ajMyEa:.jQCmfia'?  defti^  looks^ 

SBil,deportment ;  nor  is  there  any  passage  in  history 
that  takes  up  so  much  of  my  attention  ;  and  it  is  ma^ 
jiifest,  by  many  instances  of  this  kind  which  I  have 
mentioned,  that  I  have  a  particular  fancy  for  this  sub- 
ject. If  I  was  a  writer  of  books,  I  Would  compile  a 
register  of  the  various  deaths  of  people,  with  notes, 
which  would  be  of  use  for  instructing  men  bodi  to 
live  and  die.  Dicearchus  made  one  to  which  he  gave 
that  title,  but  it  had  another  view,  that  was  not  so 
profitable.! 

It  will,  perhaps,  be  objected  by  some,  that  the  That  u ho* 
circumstances  of  dying  so  far  exceed  all  manner  of *^^?*?«*. 
conception,  that  the  best  fencer  will  be  quite  off  his  dhuh  be^'' 
guard  when  it  comes  to  that  push.    Let  them  iav'®'*'*"^ 
what  the^  will,  premeditation  is  of  great  benefit ;  and^ 
besides,  is  it  nothing  to  proceed  so  far  at  least  with«     ^ 

*  SiLItal.  lih.:(L  yer.51,  &e.  f  Ci6.0ffio.  Hb.  ii.  €ap.5« 

as 


84  T£[£.  STtDt  07  PfilLtfSOPirr 

out  any  disturbance  and  tremor  ?  but,  moreover,  n^ 
ture  itself  assists  us  in  the  encounter.  If  the  deatb 
be  sudden  and  violent,  we  have  no  time  &r  fean 
I  perceive  that  the  longer  a  distemper  holds  me,  I 
naturally  contract  a  certain  disgust  of  life.  I  find  it 
much  more  difficult  to  digest  this  resolution  of  dying 
when  I  am  in  hefJth,  than  when  J  am  sick  of  a  fever.r 
The  less  I  am  attached  to  the  comforts  of  life,  by  my 
beginning  to  lose  the  use  and  pleasure  of  them,  the 
aspect  of  death  becomes  the  less  terrible  to  me; 
which  gives  me  the  hope,  that  the  farther  I  remove 
from  the  former,  and  tne  nearer  I  approach,  to  the 
latter,  the  more  easily  I  shall  compound  for  the  ex- 
change. I  have  experienced  in  many  other  occur- 
rences, that^  as  Cffisar  says,  things  often  appear  to  us 
greater  at  a  distance  than  near  at  hand ;  and  have 
found,  that  when  I  was  iii^  health,  I  have  heH  dis* 
eases  in  much  greater  horror  than  when  I  have  felt 
themr  The  alacrity,  pleasure,  and  vigour  I  now  en- 
joy, represent  the  contrary  estate  to  me  in  so  great 
a  disproportion  to  my  present  condition,  that,  in  my 
imagmation,  I  swell  these  inconveniences  to  twice 
their  magnitude,  thinking  them  more  weighty  than 
I  find  them  to  be  in  reSity  when  I  labour  under 
them  ;  and  I  h<^€  to  find  the  case  the  same  with  re- 
spect to  death.  Let  us  but  observe,  in  the  ordinary 
changes  and  declensions  which  we  suflPer,  how  nature 
steals  from  us  the  sight  of  our  bodily  decay.  What 
remains  t6  an  old  man  of  the  vigour  6f  his  youth  and 
maturer  age  ? 

Heu  !  aenihus  vitce  poriio  quanta  manei  P  ^ 

'    Alas!  how  small  a  part  of  life's  short  stage 
Kemains  for  travellers  aidvane'd  in  age  ! 

A  veteran  soldier  of  Caesar's  guards,  who  was  quite 
jaded  .and  bowed  down  with  age,  coming  to  ask  him 
leaver  that  he  mi^ht  dispatch  himself;    Caesar,  ob^'* 
sirvihgMs  (tecrepyness,and  his  long  beard  that  hung 


. .  ^  Sleg.  k  Maximia^iy  ci^r^ 


I'EACHfiS  US  TO  Dlfi«  S^ 

^own  to  his  breast,  answered  pleasantly,  thou  fan- 
ciest then  that  thou  art  still  ahve,*  Should  ^  man 
£ill  into  old  age  on  a  sudden,  I  do  not  think  he 
would  be  capable  of  enduring  such  a  change ;  but, 
being  led  by  the  hand  of  nature,  as  it  were,  by  a 
gradual  and  insensible  descent,  it  rolls  us  gently  into 
that  miserable  state,  and  fiuniliarises  it  to  us,  so  that 
when  youth  dies  in  us,  we  feel  no  shock,  though  it 
is  in  fact  a  harder  death  than  the  total  dissolution  of 
a  languishing  life,  and  than  the  death  of  old  age ; 
forasmuch  as  the  leap  from  an  uneasy  existence  to  a 
lion-existence  is  not  so  disagreeable,  as  from  a 
sprightly,  florid  state  of  existence,  to  one  that  is  full 
of  pain  and  anguish.  The  body,  when  bent,  has  less 
istrength  to  sustain  a  burden ;  and  the  case  is  the  same 
with  the  soul ;  it  is  absolutely  necessary,  therefore, 
that  she  should  be  raised  upfirm  and  erect  against  the 
power  of  this  adversary.  Tor  as  it  is  impossible  she 
should  be  in  tranquillity  while  in  fear,  so  if,  on  the 
other  hand,  she  be  composed,  she  may  boast  f  which 
is  a  thing  almost  above  the  state  of  mortals)  that  no 
uneasiness,  torment,  and  terror,  nor  the  least  dis- 
gust  can  affect  her  happiness : 

Nan  viiUus  instantis  tyranm 

Metiie  ^uaiii  solida ;  nequeAuster,  ' 

Dux  inquieti  iurhidus  AdruB ; 
Necfutminaniis  magna  Jovis  manus.f  i.  e. 

A  soul  well  settled  is  not  to  be  shook 

With  an  incensed  tyrant's  threat'ning  look. 

It  unconcern'd  can  hear  the  tempest  roar, 

And  raging  ocean  lash  the  thund'ring  shore* 

Not  the  uplifted  hand  of  mighty  Jove, 

Though  chargM  with  lightning,  such  a  mind  can  move. 

She  is  then  become  the  mistress  of  her  lusts  and  pas» 
sions,  the  mistress  of  distress,  shame,  poverty,  and 
all  the  other  injuries  of  fortime ;  let  us  therefore,  as 
many  of  us  as  can,  gain  this  advantage,  which  is  the 
true  and  sovereign  liberty  that  enables  us  to  defy 

*  Senec,  Epist.77v  t  Hon  lib.tiii  odeS. 


J 


86  THE  STUDY  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

violence  and  injustice^  and  to  despise  prisons  and 
chains ; 

■  ■     In  manins  et 
Compedibus  scbvo  te  sub  custode  tenebo. 
ipse  DeuSj  fmulatqne  tHilamy  me  solvei.     Opinor, 
Hoc  senlii :  moriary  Mors  tdiima  linea  rerum  e/i.* 

^ith  bolts  and  chains  I  '11  load  thy  Teet  and  bands^ 
Doom'd  to  obey  a  gaoler's  stcru  commands. 
Know^  1  the  tyrant's  utmost  rage  despise : 
Propitious  God  will  listen  to  my  cries ; 
By  death  will  free  me,  when  with  woes  opprest; 
And  crown  my  sufferings  with  eternal  rest. 

Arvcimieats  OuF  religion  itself  has  no  surer  human  foundation 
^D^  ^?than  the  cOnteinpt  of  life.  Not  only  reason  prompts 
4«th,  us  to  it;  for  wr\y  should  we  ffear  to  lose  a  thing, 
which,  being  lost,  cannot  be  regretted?  besides, 
since  we  are  threatened  with  death  of  so  many  va- 
rious kinds,  is  it  not  worse  to  fear  them  all,  than  to 
suffer  one  of  them  ?  And  what  matters  it  when  it 
happens,  since  it  is  unavoidable  ?  "  Socrates  being 
•'  told,  that  the  thirty  tyrants  had  condemned  him 
•*  to  die  ;"t  "  And  so  has  nature  them,**  said  he. 
What  a  folly  is  it  for  us  to  afflict  ourselves  about  a 
passage  that  exempts  us  from  all  trouble !  As  our 
birth  brought  us  the  birth  of  all  things,  so  when  we 
<lie  all  things  to  us  will  be  dead.  Therefore,  to  la- 
ment that  we  shall  not  be  alive  a  hundred  years 
hence,  is  as  absurd  as  to  be  sorry  that  we  were  not 
in  the  land  of  die  living  a  hundred  years  ago.  Death 
is  the  beginning  of  another  life.  So  did  we  weep, 
and  so  much  it  cost  us  to  enter  into  this,  and  so  did  we 
put  off  our  former  veil,  when  we  entered  into  the 
i  present  state,  ^^othing  can  be  a  grievance  that  is 
but  for  once  j  and  is  it  reasonable  to  be  so  long  in 
fear  of  a  thing  that  is  of  so  short  a  duration  ?  A  long 
life,  and  a  short,  arc  by  death  made  all  one ;  for 
there  is  no  difference  in  things  that  are  no  more. 

*  Hor.  lib.  i.  ep.  16,  ver.  76,  Ac. 

f  Socrat:6  was  not  condemned  to  death  by  the  thirty  tyrants,  but 
by  the  Athenians.    Diogenes  Lacrtius,  lib.  u.  scgni.  So.  * 


TEACHES  US  TO  DIE.  87 

Aristotle  relates,*  that  there  are  certain  little  beasts 
on  the  banks  of  the  river  Hypanis,  which  live  but  one 
day,  and  that  those  of  them  which  die  at  eight 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  die  in  their  prime,  and  those 
that  die  at  sunset  are  in  the  age  of  decrepitude.  Who 
of  us  would  not  be  indifferent  whether  happiness  or 
misery  w^ere  the  lot  of  a  momentary  existence  ?  Ours, 
be  it  more  or  less,  if  compared  to  eternity,  or  even 
to  the  duration  of  mountains,  rivers,  stars,  trees, 
and  even  of  some  animals,  is  no  less  ridiculous. 

Nay,  nature  itself  forces  us  to  our  dissolution ;  D««th  u  % 
"  Go  out  of  this  world,"  says  she,  "  as  you  came  into  JJ^^,?/„.'*** 
**  it.     By  the  same  passage  that  you  came  fro;n  death  tion  «f  th« 
"  to  life,  without  passion  or  fear,  go  back  from  life  ""'^*'**' 
**  to  death-     Your  death  is  a  part  of  the  constitution 
**  of  the  universe ;  it  is  a  part  of  the  life  of  the 
**  world : 

Inter  se  mor tales  muiua  vhmntj 

.£/  quasi  cursores  vitce  lampada  tradunl. 
Among  themselves  mankind  alternate  live, 
And  life's  bright  torph  to  the  next  runner  give  4 

**  Shall  I  alter  this  excellent  system  of  things  for  you  ? 
*<  It  is  the  condition  of  your  creation;  death  is  a  part 
•'  of  you,  and  whilst  you  endeavour  to  escape  it,  you 
**  fly  from  yqurselves,  This  very  being  of  yours  tliat 
••  you  now  enjoy,  is  equallv  shared  betwixt  life  and 
**  death.  /The  day  of  your  birth  is  one  day's  advance ) 
•*  to  death  as  well  as  Jue ;  /  ^ 

frimaj  qitise  vftam  dedit^  hora  carpsit^  § 
Nascentes  morimury  Jiiiisque  ab  ongine  pendei*  Q 

The  hour  that  first  gave  life  its  breath, 
Was  a  whole  hour's  advance  to  death. 
As  we  are  bora  we  die ;  and  oui  life's  cndl 
Upon  our  life's  beginning  does  depei^d, 

♦  Cicero  Tuscul.  Qosst  lib.  i*  cap*  39* 

+  Lucret.  lib,  ii.  ver.  75,  78. 

X  This  is  an  allusion  to  the  Athenian  games,  wherein  those  that 
ran  a  race  carried  torches  in  their  hands ;  which,  when  the  race  was 
over,  th^y  delivered  into  the  hands  of  those  that  were  to  run  next. 

^  Senec  Hercul.  chor.  3,  ver  ^9*  II  M^nil*  lib.  ii^  v^r.  1& 


88  THE  STUDY  (^;PHIL080FHY 

^^  Every  day  you  live  you  steal  from  life,  and  live 
"at  the  expense  of  Kfe  itself.  The  perpetual  work 
"  of  your  life  is  to  build  up  death.  You  are  in  death 
"  while  you  live,  because,  when  your  life  is  ended 
*^  jrou  succeed  to  death ;  or,  if  you  had  rather  have 
"  It  so,  you  are  dead  after  life,  but  dying  all  the  time 
"  you  live,  and  death  handles  the  dving  much  more 
"  roughly,  sharply,  and  more  feelingly  than  the  dead. 
''  If  you  liave  made  your  advantage  c»  life,  you  have 
**  had  enough  of  it,  go  away  satisfied : 

Cut  non  ut  plenus  vittB  conviva  recedis  P  * 

Why  dost  thou  not  retire,  like  to  a  guest,  ' 

Sated  with  life,  as  he  is  with  a  feast  ? 

**  If  you  have  not  known  how  to  make  the  best  use 
"  of  it,  and  if  it  was  unprofitable  to  you,  why  should 
**  you  be  loth  to  part  with  it  ?  To  what  end  would 
^  you  desire  longer  to  keep  it  ? 

Cur  ampUus  addere  qucBtis 

Rursum  quod  pereat  male  et  ingratum  occidat  omne»\ 

And  why,  fond  mortal,  dost  thou  ask  for  more  ? 
Why  still  desire  t'  increase  thy  wretched  store,     . 
And  wish  for  what  must  waste  like  those  before  ? 

•*  Life,  in  itself,  is  neither  a  good  nor  an  evil ;  "but  it 
*'  is  the  scene  of  good  or  evfl,  as  you  make  it ;  and 
•'  if*  you  have  lived  a  day  you  have  seen  all ;  one  day 
^  is  like  all  others.  There  is  no  other  light,  no  other 
**  sight ;  this  very  sun,  this  moon,  these  very  stars, 
**  the  present  system  of  things  is  the  very  same  that 
**  your  ancestors  enjoyed,  and  the  same  that  will  en- 
**  tertain  your  latest  posterity : 

Non  alium  videre  palres^  aliumve  nepotes 

AspicienLX 

Your  grandsires  saw  no  other  things  of  old. 

Nor  shall  your  grandsons  other  things  behold. 

"  And  come  the  worst  that  can  come,  the  distribu- 
*^  tion  and  variety  of  all  the  acts  of  my  comedy  are 

*  Lucret.  lib.  iii.  ver.951.  f  ibid.  lib.  iii.  ver.  95t,  955. 

X  ManQius,  lib.  i.  ver.  521,  522. 


*      TSACttES  US  TO  DIE.  89 

**  performed  in  a  year.  If  you  have  attended  to  the 
**  succession  of  my  four  seasons,  they  comprehend 
**  the  infimcy,  youth,  viiility,  and  old  age  of  the 
**  world.  The  year  has  played  its  part,  and  has  no 
*'  new  scene,  but  will  always  be  a  repetition  of  the 
**  same  thing : 

Fersamur  ibidemy  aique  insumus  usque.*  i.  e. 

We  yearly  tread  but  one  perpetual  round, 

We  ne'er  strike  out,  but  beat  the  former  ground. 

Atffue  in  se  sua  per  vestigia  volvititr  annus, f  i.  e. 
And  the  year  rolls  within  itself  again. 

•*  I  am  not  determined,'*  continues  Nature,  "  to  con« 
•*  tinue  any  new  recreations  for  you: 

Nam  tihi  prcetefea  quod  machinery  inveniamque 
Quod  placet  nihil  est;  eadem  sunt  omnia  semper. %  i-e. 
More  pleasure  than  are  made  I  cannot  frame. 
For  to  all  times  all  things  will  be  the  same. 

•*  Make  room  for  others,  as  others  have  done  for  you. 
**  Equality  is  the  soul  of  equity.  §  Who  can  com- 
*^  plain  of  being  under  the  same  destiny  with  all  hi? 
*'  teliow-creatures  ?  Besides,  live  as  long  as  you  can^ 
**  you  will  thereby  not  at  all  shorten  the  space  of 
*•  time  that  you  are  to  lie  dead  in  the  grave  j  it  is  all 
**  to  no  purpose  :  you  will  be  every  whit  as  long  in 
^^  that  situation  which  you  so  much  dread,  as  if  you 
*^  had  died  at  the  breast : 


'Licet  quot  vis  vivendo  vincere  secla, 


Mars  cBlema  tamen,  nihikminus  ilia  manelnL\\  i.  e. 

For  though  thy  life  should  numerous  ages  fill. 
The  state  of  death  will  be  eternal  sdll. 

^'  And  yet  I  will  place  you  in  such  a  condition  as  you 
*'  shall  not  be  dissatisfied  with : 

In  vera  nescis  nullum  fore  morte  alium  te 
Qui  pitssit  viiustibi  te  Itigere peremptum. 
6lcmsque  jacinlem.%  i.  e. 

*  Lucret.  lib,  iii.  ver.  1093.  f  Virg.  Geo.  lib.  ii.  ver.  402. 

%  Lucret.  lib.  iii.  ver.  957,  958.  §  Senec.  epist.  SO. 

II  Lucret  Ub.  ill.  ver.  llOS,  110*.  %  Ibid.  ver.  898. 


90  THE  STUDY  OF  PHILOSOPirr 

VVben  dead^  a  liviag  self  thou  canst  not  hav^ 
Or  to  hunent  or  trample  on  thy  grave. 

•*  Nor  shall  you  so  much  as  wish  for  the  life  you  arc 
^*  so  ipuch  concerned  for : 

Nee  sill  enim  quisquam  turn  se  vitamquei  requhrit^ 

Nee  desiderium  noslri  nns  afficH  uUum.*  i.  c. 

Life,  not  ourselves  we  wish  in  that  estate, 
Nor  once  about  ourselves  deliberate. 

^  Death  is  less  to  be  feared  than  nothing,  if  there 
**  was  any  thing  less  than  nothing : 

— Mulio  mortem  minus  ad  nos  esse  putandmuy 

Si  minus  esse  potest  quam  quod  nihil  esse  videmus.f  i.  e. 

If  less  than  nothing  all  the  world  can  sliow. 
Death  vpuld  appear  tp  ms,  and  wpuld  be  so, 

**  Neither  can  it  any  way  concern  you,  whether  li\-ing 
**  or  dead :  Not  living,  because  you  still  exist ;  nor 
**  dead,  because  you  are  no  more.  Moreover,  no 
^  one  dies  before  his  hour ;  and  the  time  you  leave 
^^  behind  w$s  no  more  yours,  than  that  which  was 
^^  past  and  gone  before  you  was  born ;  nor  does  it 
^^  any  more  concern  you : 

Jtespice  enim  quam  nil  ad  nos  unteacta  vetustcs 
Temporis  ceierhl  J'uerit.'^  J.  e, 

Look  back,  and  thougli  times  pst  eternal  were, 
In  thcise  before  us  yet  we  had  no  share. 

"  Let  your  life  end  where,  or  when  it  will,  it  is  al} 
**  included  in  eternity.  The  benefit  qf  life  consists 
"  not  in  the  space,  but  the  usq  of  it.  Such  a  one 
*'  may  have  lived  a  long'  time,  who  yet  may  be  said 
^^  to  have  enjoyed  but  a  short  life.  Give  attention 
"  to  time  while  it  is  present  with  you.  It  depends 
**  upon  your  will,  and  not  upon  the  number  of  years, 
**  tnat  you  have  lived  long  enough.  Do  you  think 
^*  never  to  arrive  at  the  place  towards  which  you  are 

pontinually  going?  And  yet  there  is  no  road  but 


C( 


*  J^ucret.  ver.932,  935.         f  Id.  ibid.     •  t  Id.  ve:.  985»  £|jB6^ 


TEACHES  VS  TO  BIE.  91 

^^  hath  its  end.  And  if  company  will  mdee  it  more 
^^  pleasant,  does  not  all  th^  world  go  the  sel£-samQ 
**  way  as^you  do  ? 

Omnia  te  vita  perfuncta  sequentur.*  u.  e. 

All  the  world  in  death  must  follow  thee. 

^  Does  not  all  the  world  dance  the  same  brawl  that 
^'  you  do  ?  Is  there  any  thing  that  does  not  grow  old 
^^  as  well  as  you  ?  A  thousand  men,  a  thousand  ani- 
^*  mals,  and  a  thousand  other  creatures  die  at  the 
^  same  instant  that  you  expire: 

Nam  nox  nulla  diem,  veque  nociem  aurora  secuta  estf. 
Quienon  audierii  misios  vagitibus  cegris 
FloratuSf  mortis  comites,  et  funeris  o/n.f 

Na  night  succeeds  the  day,  nor  morning's  light^ 
Succeeds  to  drive  away  the  shades  of  night, 
Wherein  there  are  not  heard  the  dismal  groans 
Of  dying  men  mix'd  with  the  woful  moans 
Of  living  friends,  as  also  widi  the  cries. 
And  dirges  fitting  funeral  obsequies. 

*'  To  what  end  do  you  endeavour  to  avoid  death, 
*'  unless  it  was  possible  for  you  to  evade  it  ?    You 
^*  have  seen  instances  enough  of  those  to  whom  it 
**  has  been  welcome,  as  it  has  put  an  end  to  their 
*^  great  misery.     Have  you  talked  with  any  to  whom 
**  it  has  therefore  been  unwelcome  ?  It  is  very  foolisti 
**  to  condemn  a  thing  which  you  have  not  experi- 
**  enced,  neither  yourself,  nor  in  the  person  or  any 
*'  other.     Why  (says  Nature)  dost  thou  complain  of 
"  me  and  destiny  ?  Do  we  wrong  thee  ?  Is  it  for  thee 
*'  to  govern  us,  or  for  us  to  dispose  of  thee  ?  Though 
**  thy  age  may  not  be  accomplished,  yet  thy  life  is. 
^'  A  little  man  is  as  entirely  a  man  as  a  giant ;  neither 
**  men  nor  their  lives  are  measured  by  the  yard* 
^^  Chiron  refused  to  be  immortal,  when  he  was  ac-  immoitan. 
**  quainted  with  the  terms  upon  v;hich  he  was  to  en-  *y  ^^^ 
**  joy  it,  by  his  father  Saturn,  the  very  god  of  time,  Za  wiST* 
^^  and  its  duration.    Do  but  seriously  consider,  how 

•  Luc  et.  lib.  iu.  ver.  98L  t  Ibid.  lib.  ii.  ver.  579|  58a 


9t  PinLOSOPHY  TEACHES  US  TO  DIE. 

*'  much  more  intolerable  and  painful  a  life  would  be, 
^'  which  was  to  last  for  ever,  than  that  which  I  have 
*'  given  thee.  If  death  was  not  to  be  your  lot,  you 
*'  would  eternally  curse  me  for  having  deprived  you 
**  of  it  I  have,  it  is  true,  mixed  a  Tittle  bitterness 
^*  with  it,  to  the  end,  that  when  you  have  perceived 
**  the  conveniency  of  it,  you  might  not  embrace  it 
"  too  greedily  and  indiscreetly :  and  that  you  might 
•^  be  established  in  this  moderation  which  I  require 
**  of  yon,  neither  to  fly  from  life  nor  death,  I  have 
**  tempered  both  with  bitter  and  sweet.  I  taught 
**  Thales,  the  chief  of  all  your  sages,  that  either  life 
**  or  death  was  indifferent ;  so  that,  when  one  asked 
"him,  *  Why  then  did  he  not  die?*  he  answered 
"  very  wisely,  *  because  it  was  a  matter  of  indif- 
*'  ference.'  Water,  earth,  air,  and  fire,  and  the  other 
"  members  of  this  my  structure,  are  no  more  the  in* 
"  struments  of  thy  life  than  of  thy  death.*  Why  art 
*'  thou  afraid  of  thy  last  day,  which  conduces  no 
"  more  to  thy  dissolution  than  any  before  it.  The 
^*  last  step  is  not  the  cause  of  lassitude,  but  only  the 
"  discovery  of  it.  Every  day  travels  towards  death, 
**  thy.last  only  arriye^s  at  it.'*  Thus  fafTIie  goo^ 
lessons  of  our  mother  Nature. 
Whyrfeafh  I  havc  oflcu  cousidcrcd  with  myself  whence  it 
i^ipears  to  ^\iqx^i^  procccd,  that,  in  the  field  of  battle,  the  image 
*dieadr«i  in  of  death,  whether  we  view  it  in  our  own  danger  of 
bLufe'oian  ^^'  or  iu  that  of  others,  is  not  near  so  dreadful  as  in 
tn  our  ownour  owu  houscs,  (which  if  it  were  not  fact,  they  would 
^^^' '  be  a  pack  of  whining  milk-sops)  and  that  though 
death  has  always  the  same  aspect,  yet  it  meets  with 
more  courage  in  peasants,  and  men  of  low  rank, 
than  in  others.  I  really  believe,  that  the  dismal  air 
and  apparatus  with  which  we  set  it  out,  terrifies  us 
more  than  the  thing  itself.  A  new  manner  of  life 
quite  contrary  to  the  former ;  the  cries  of  mothers, 
wives,  and  children ;  the  visits  of  astonished,  afflict- 
ed friends ;  the  attendance  of  pale  and  blubberijig 

*  Seneca,  epiLit..l20» 


THE  POWER  OF  IMACmATIOK.  9S 

tervttnts;  a  dark  rcmm,  ^vith  "burning  wax  tsipers  in 
it;  our  beds  surrounded  with  physicans  and  par- 
sons ;  in  short,  nothing  but  ghastliness  and  horror 
about  us,  make  men  iancy  themselves  already  dead 
and  buried.*  **  Children  are  afraid  of  their  very 
*'  fiiends  when  they  see  them  masqued,  and  so  are 
•*  we  oursdves.  The  vizor  must  be  taken  off  as  weH 
**  from  things  as  persons/*  When  that  is  removed, 
we  shall  find  nothing  underneath  but  the  very  same 
death  which  a  footman  or  a  chambermaid  suffered 
the  other  day  without  any  fear.  Happy  therefore  is 
diat  death  which  does  not  give  time  to  mlake  such  a 
pompous  apparatus. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


Oftheef. 


Of  the  Power  of  lanaginaiian, 

Jt  ORTIS  imaginatio  gen€7^at  casum ;  a  strong  ima- 
gination begets  accidents,  says  the  sqhoolraen.  I  am  [*^^i^ 
one  of  those  who  are  sensible  of  the  very  great  tian. 
power  .of  imagination.  Every  one  is  jostled,  and 
some  are  overthrown  by  it.  Its  impression  pierces 
me,  and  for  want  of  strength  to  resist  it,  I  have  no 
recourse  to  art  to  escape  it.  The  company  of  those 
that  are  healthy  and  cheerful  is  all  that  I  wish  for. 
The  very  sight  of  another  person's  anguish  gi\^s  me 
sensible  uneasiness,  and  I  often  sympathise  with  a 
third  person.  A  perpetual  cough  in  another,  tickles 
my  lungs  and  throat.  I  more  unwillingly  visit  the 
sick,  to  whom  I  am  in  duty  bound,  than  those  for 
whom  I  have  less  concern  and  regard;  I  contract 
the  disease  which  engrosses  mv  attention ;  nor  do  I 
at  all  wonder  that  fancv  should  occasion  fevers,  and 
sometimes  death,  to  those  who  give  way  to  its  ex- 
travagancies.    Simon  Thomas  was  a  great  pliysician 

*    •  Seneca^  epist,  2^* 


94  TITE  POWER  OF  IMAGIKATIOIT. 

of  his  time :  I  remember,  that  meeting  me  One  Any 
at  Thoulouse,  at  the  house  of  a  rich  Old  man,  who 
was  troubled  with  bad  lungs,  aixd  consulting  hira 
about  the  cure,  he  told  his  patient,  that  one  thing 
would  conduce  to  it,  namely,  to  give  me  some  cause 
to  be  fond  of  his  company  ;  and  that  by  fixing  his 
eyes  on  the  fireshness  of  my  complexicm^  and  his  ima- 
gination upon  the  abundant  sprightliness  and  vigour 
of  my  youth,  and  possessing  all  his  senses  with  that 
florid  state  of  body  which  I  then  enjoyed,  his  con- 
stitution might  be  the  better  for  it ;  but  he  forgot  to 
say  that  I  might  hi^pen  to  be  the  worse  for  it. 
Gallus  Vibius  so  long  cudgelled  his  brains*  to  find 
out  the  essence  of  madness,  that  his  judgment  be- 
came affected.  Some  there  are,  who,  through  fear, 
save  the  hangman  a  labour ;  and  there  was  a  man, 
whose  eyes  being  unbound  to  have  his  pardon  read 
to  him,  was  found  dead  upon  the  scaffold,  through  the 
mere  force  of  his  imagination.  We  start,  tremble, 
turn  pale,  and  blush  by  the  shocks  of  our  imagina- 
tion ;  and  when  covered  over  head  and  ears  in  bed, 
feel  our  bodies  agitated  with  its  power  to  such  a  de- 
gree, that  some  nave  thereby  expired.  So  warm  is 
the  imaj^nation  of  youth,  even  when  fast  asleep,  a^ 
to  satis^  their  amorous  desires  in  a  dream  ;  which 
Lucretius  expresses  a  little  too  nakedly  in  the  follow- 
ing distich,  viz. 

Ul  quasi  transactis  scepe  omnibus  rebuSf  profiindant 
Fluminis  ingentes  fluctus  vestemque  cruentenL*  i.  e.. 

Who  love  enjoys  in  sleep,  bis  infiam'd  mind 
Lays  his  love's  tribute  where  'twas  not  designed. 

*  Seneca,  the  rhetoriciati,  from  whom  Mont&igne  must  have 
taken  this  story,  does  not  sav  that  Gallus  Vibius  lost  his  reason  bj 
endeavouring  to  comprehend  the  essence  of  madness,  but  by  too 
Mudious  an  application  to  imitate  its  motions.  As  this  Gallus  n'as  a 
rhetorician  by  profession,  he  imagined  that  the  transports  of  madnef^s 
represented  livelily  in  dialogue,  would  charm  his  audience,  and  took 
so  much  pains  to  play  the  madman  in  jest,  that  he  became  so  in 
earnest.  He  is  the  only  man  I  ever  knew,  says  Seneca,  that  be» 
came  mad,  not  by  accident,  but  by  an  act  of  judgment.  Contro- 
vers.  9,  lib.  iL  t  Luctet.  lib.  ix.  ver.  10S9»  lOSa 


THE  POWER  OF  l>IAOlKATIO{f.  95 

Although  it  be  no  new  thing  to  see  horfi9  grafted 
ia  the  morning  on  the  head  of  a  person  that  had 
none  when  he  went  to  bed^  yet  memorable  is  what 
befel  C^ppus,  a  noble  Roman^  who,  having  one  day 
been  witn  great  delight  a  spectator  of  a  bull-iight,  and 
having  all  night  long  dreamed  that  he  had  horns  on 
Ills  head,  lus  forehead  produced  them  in  reality  next 
morning  by  the  force  of  imagination**  It  was  doWQ« 
right  passion  that  made  Croesus's  son  speak,  who  was 
bom  dumb.t  Antiochus  caught  a  fever  by  being 
too  deeply  impressed  with  the  beauty  of  Stratonice. 
Pliny  say«,  in  his  Natural  History,  lib.  vii.  cap.  4,  xhesiiwy 
that  he  saw  Luciua  Crossicius,  who  from  a  womanwas  fJX^ 
turned  into  a  man  upon  her  very  wedding  day.  Pon^  {»  lo^*^ 
tanus  and  others  relate  the  like  metamoiphoses  that 
have  happened  in  these  latter  ages  in  Italy.  And 
through  the  vehement  desire  of  him  and  liis  nK)ther, 

Fota  puer  solvit^  quee  fijemina  voveraty  Iphis.l  >•  ^* 
Iphis,  a  Jx)jr,  the  vo\<r  dcfray'd 
That  he  had  promis'd  when  a  mmd. 

1  myself,  as  I  passed  through  Vitrj^  le  Fran9ois,  a 
town  in  Champagne,  saw  a  man,  whom  the  bishop 
of  Soissons  confirmed  by  the  name  of  German,  whqiu 
all  the  inhabitants  of  the  place  had  known  and  seen 
to  be  a  girl  by  the  name  of  Mary  to  the  age  of  twen^ 
ty-two.  When  I  saw  him  he  had  a  very  bushy  beard, 
was  old,  and  not  married.  He  told  us,  that  by 
straining  himself  in  a  leap,  his  virile  member  came 
out ;  and  the  young  women  of  the  place  have  a  song 
to  this  day,  wnerein  they  caution  one  another  not  to 

*  PUoypuls  this  story  in  the  same  class  as  that  of  Actaeon,  and 
supposes  both  to  be  fabulous.    Nat.  Hist  lib.  xi.  cap.  4«5.    Valerius 
Maxixnus  gives  this  Cyppus  the  title  of  praetor,  and  says,  that  a:*  he 
departed  from  Rome,  in  the  habit  of  a  general,  and  the  accident 
which  Montaigne  speaks  of  here  happening  to  him,  die  diviners  d(|- 
dared,  that  Cyppus  would  be  a  king  if  he  returned  t)  Rome;  where- 
;  upon  be  voluntarily  condemiied  himself  to  perpetual  exile^  in  order 
.  to  prevept  it.    V^ler.  Max.  lib.  v.  cap.  6.  * 
4-  Hj»odotuS|  lib.  i.  pag.  89. 
i  Ovid.  Metam.  lib.  ix.  fab.  12,  ver.  129. 


96  THE  POWER  OP  IMAGINArtON'. 

fake  too  large  strides,  for  fear  of  being  turned  into 
men,  as  Mary  German  was.     It  is  no  such  wonder 
if  this  should  often  happen ;  for  if  imagination  has 
any  power  in  such  things,  it  is  so  continually,  and  so 
vigorously  attached  to  this  subject,  that,  to  the  end 
it  may  not  so  often  relapse  into  the  same  thought  and 
eagerness  of  desire,  it  were  better  to  incorporate 
this  virile  part  into  the  girls*  once  for  all. 
^•trmnge     Somc  attribute  the  scars  of  king  Dagobert  and  St. 
ima^na-    Francis  to  the  force  of  imagination.     It  is  said,  that 
*ion*        bodies  are  sometimes  removed  by  it  out  of  their 
places.     Celsus  tells  us  of  a  priest,  whose  soul  was 
m  such  an  ecstatic  rapture,  that  the  body  remained 
for  a  long  time  without  sense  and  respiration.     St. 
Austin  mentions  another,  who,  if  he  did  but  hear 
any  lamentable  or  doleful  cries,  would  &U  suddenly 
into  a  swoon,  and  so  profound  ^a  lethargy,  that  it 
was  to  no  purpose  to  bawl  in  his  ears,  shake,  pinch, 
or  scorch  him,  till  he  came  to  himself  j  then  he  said, 
he  had  heard  voices,  as  it  were  afar  off,  and  felt  when 
they  scorched  and  pinched  him :  and  that  this  was 
not  a  dissembled  obstinacy  in  defiance  of  his  sense  of 
feeling,  was  plain,  because  he  had  all  the  while  nei- 
ther pulse  nor  breathing, 
whyittch       It  is  very  probable,   that  the  credit  of  visions, 
^iwcnut    enchantments,   and  such  extraordinary  effects,   is 
eictem-    principally  derived  from  the  power  of  imagination, 
meota"  Ac.  which  makes  the  greatest  impression  upon  the  more 
credulous  minds  of  the  vulgar,  who  are  very  apt  to 
believe  they  see  what  they  do  not. 
From  I  am  also  in  some  doubt  whether  those  pleasafit 

pro*c1J^di   ligatures  with  which  this  age  of  ours  is  so  hampered, 
5wrof  *^**'  scarce  any  thing  else  is  talked  of,  are  not  the 
cfttti^    voluntary  impressions  of  apprehension  and  fear.    For 
I  know  by  experience,  that  a  certain  man,  whom  I 
$an  answer  for  as  well  as  for  myself,  and  one  who 

*  A  false  and  extrava£;ant  thought  thiB.  I  am  not  at  all  rarprited 
that  Montaigne  canie  to  be  possessed  with  it,  for  who  does  not  dreafti 
sometimes  when  he  is  awake ;  but  what  I  wonder  at  is,  how  he  could 
determine  to  make  use  of  it. 


THE  FOWEK  OF  rMAOIKATIOK.  07 

can  by  no  meim  be  suspected  of  impotency,  and  as 
little  of  beinff  under  a  spell,  who  naving  heard  a 
companion  of  his  tell  a  story  of  an  extraordinary 
disability  that  seized  him  at  a  very  unseasonable  time» 
being^  afterwards  in  the  like  engagement,  the  horror 
of  toe  relatioh  so  roughly  shocked  his  imagination 
all  on  a  sudden,  that  be  met  with  the  same  fate  as  the  . 
other  had  done ;  and  for  that  time  SorwBird  was  subt 
ject  to  rekpse  into  it,  the  remembrance  of  his  dis^ 
aster  curbing  and  tyrannising  over  him«  He  found 
some  remedy  however  for  this  idle  fimcy  bv  toother, 
namely,  by  his  own  frank  confession,  and  previous 
declaration  of  Ins  infirmity  to  the  party  with  whom 
he  was  to  do,  whereby  the  contention  of  his  soul 
was  in  fiome  sort  iq^peased ;  because  knowing  that 
now  nothing  better  was  expected  from  him,  his  obli- 
gation was  the  less,  and  he  suffered  the  less  by  it, 
when  he  was  free  at  bis  choice  (his  thought  being 
disentangled  and  at  liberty,  and  his  body  in  its  proper 
state)  he  caused  the  part  to  be  handled^  and  was  . 
perfectly  cured.  After  a  man  has  once  given  proof 
ai  his  capacity,  he  is  never  afler  in  danger  of  non- 
performance, unless  upon  the  account  of  real  wed^« 
ness.  Neither  is  this  disaster  to  be  feared,  but  in 
adventures  where  the  sotil  is  extended  beyond  mea* 
sure  with  desire  and  respect,  and  especially  where 
opportunitieB  call  out  that  are  urgent  and  unforeseen. 
There  is  no  way  of  recovery  from  this  trouble ;  and 
vet  I  have  known  some  who  have  found  their  account 
by  comii^,  aft:er  being  half-sated  elsewhere,  pur^ 
posely  to  cool  the  heat  of  their  fory ;  and  some  who 
through  age  find  themselves  impotent  by  being  less 
able.  And  I  knew  another  who  was  made  easy^  l^ 
being  assured  that  a  friend  of  his  had  a  counter-biat- 
tery  of  certain  charms  to  preserve  him. .  The  story 
18  WQftk  telling. 

A  count  of  a  great  fiunily,  with  whom  I  was  very  a  pimaiit 
intimate,  being  married  to  a  fair  lady,  who  had  been  ^^^!^ 
courted  by  one  of  the  guests  at  her  wedding ;  all  his  <j^  *• 
fiiends,  eq^eciaBy  an  old  lady,  his  kinswoman,  whatto^'^ 

rou  L  H 


98  THE  PaWBR  OF  IMAGIXATIOir. 

had  the  direction  of  the  marri^ge-feaftt,  and  aturhose 
jbouse  it  was  kept,  were  in  great  fear  that:thiere  would 
be  some  sorcery  in  the  case!,  and  she  communicated 
her  apprehension  to  me..  I  desired  her  to  rely  upcm 
my  care.  I  had,  by  chance,  in  my  possession  a  snIaU 
plate  6f  gold,  whereon  was .  engraved  some  c^  the 
celestial  signs,  which  was  good  to  prevent  the  brain- 
pan from  l^ing  scorched  W  thtf  heat  of  the'sut),  and 
to  remove,  the  head-ach,  if  it  was  applied  exwdvito 
the  suture  of  the  skull ;  and  in  order  to  keep  it  firm^ 
a  ribbon  was  tadked  to  it,  so  as  to  be  tied  under  the 
chin ;  a  piece  of  quackery,  cousin-german  to  what 
we  are  now  speaking  of  I  had  this  singular  present 
from  James  rellatier,  who  lived  with  me,  and  having 
a  mind  to  make  an  ei^perimentwith  it,  I  told  the 
count  that  he;  might  possibly  have  the  same  trick  put 
upon  him  as  had  been  pl^}red  with  some  other  bride- 
grooms, some  persons  being  in  the  house  who  cer« 
tainly  intended  to  do  him  such  an  ill  office ;  buit  I 
advised  him  to  go  boldly  to  bed,  ivhen  I  would  do 
him  the  office  of  a  friend ;  and,  if  need  required^ 
would  not  spare  to  work  a  mirade  that  was  in  my 
power,  provided  he  would  assure  me  upon  his  honour 
to  keep  it  an  entire  secret.  All  that  he  had  to  do 
was  in  the  night,  when  they  came  to  brine  him  his 

'  Jggudle,  if  matters  had  not  gone  well  with  him,  to 
'eive  me  a  sign.  His  ears  had  been  so  dinned,  and 
his  mind  so  prepossessed,  that  he  found  his.  imagi- 
nation reallv  disturbed,  and  therefore,  at  the  time 
agreed  on,  he  gave  me  the  sign.  I  then  whispered 
him,  that  he  should  get  out  of  bed,  under  pretence 
pf  putting  us  out  of  the  chamber,  and  that  taking 
off  my  night-gown,  as  it  were  in  a  frolic  (we  being 
much  of  a  size),  should  put  it  on  himself,  and  keep 
it  on  till  he. had  done  what  I  ordered  him;  which 
was,  that  when  we  were  gone  out  of  the  room,  he 
should  retire  to  make  water;  repeat  certain  words 

«  three  times,  and  make  certain  motions;  that  at  each- 
time  he  should  tie  the  ribband  I  put  into  hi^  hands 
about  his  waist,  and  place  the  medal  thatw^  ap-. 


))ehdant  to  it  (the  figures  in  sueh  a  ]^osition)  Ver^ 
carefully  upon  his  kidneys;  Which  being  done,  and 
having,  M  the  last  of  the  three  times,  so  Well  fkstened 
the  ribband,  that  it  could  neither  unlodile,  iior  slip 
from  its  place,  he  might  securely  renew  his  dttabk^ 
not  forgetting  to  spread  my  night-gown  on  his  bed  in. 
.  Such  a  manner  that  it  might  cover  them  both.  Iif 
•  thescrfricks  the  effect  chiefly  consists,  our  fancy  be- 
ing seduced  to  think  that  such  strange  formalities 
must  proceed  from  some  occult  science^  Their  in-^ 
signifieEuacy  really  gives  them  weight  and  reverence. 
Upon  the  whole,  it  was  ciertain  Siat  tny  character^ 
were  more  venerean  than  solar^  arid  contested  more 
in  action  than  prohibition.  It  was  indeed  a  sudden 
whim,  mixed  with  a  little  curiosity,  that  prompted 
me  to  do  a  thing  to  which  I  hare  by  nature  an  Aver- 
sion; for  I  am  an  enemy  to  all  Subtle  and  sham  per^  . 
formances,  and  wash  my  hands  of  all  flnesse,  whethei' 
it  be  for  pleasure  or  profit;  for  if  the  action  be  nob 
vicious,  the  manner  erf  it  is.  Amasis,  king  of  Egypt ^ 
married  Laodicea^  a  very  beautiful  Greek-  virgin; 
and  though  he  wbs  a  man  of  approved  gallantry  to 
all  others,  yet  he  could  by  no  means  enjoy  her,  so 
that  he  threatened  to  kill  her,  on  a  suspicion  that  she 
was  a  witch*  As  it  is  usual  with  &ncy,  it  put  him 
upon  devodon,  and  having  made  his  vows  and  pro- 
mises to  Venus,*  he  found  his  strength  divinely 
tepaired  the  very  first  night  after  his  oblations  and 
sacrifices.  Now,  in  plain  truth,  women  are  to  blam<l 
for  putting  on  those  disdainful,  coy,  and  angry  coun-> 
tenances,  which  extingirishes  the  vigour  of  the  men,' 
as  it  kindles  their  desire.  It  was  a  saj^ng  of  tlie 
dau^ter-inJaw  of  P^rthagoras,t  that  *^  the  wcrnian 
^^  who  goes  to  bed  with  a  man,  must  put  off  her  mo^t 
^'  desty  with  her  petticoat,  and  with  the  s&ifae  ptxt  it 

*  Herodptud,  lib.  li.  p.  ISO,  says,  that  it  v^  Hot  Ania^is,  bin 
Laodicea»  or  Ladice,  wno  faithfully  performed  a  raw  she  had  madtf 
to  VenaSy  by  erecting  a  statue  to  her,  which,  said  he^  was  still  standi 
idg  in  my  time. 

t  Diog.  Laert  in  the  Lift  of  Pythagoras,  lib.  tSI^  segnU49» 


100  TU£  POWER  OF  IMAGINATIOK. 

<^  on  again/'*    The  assailant  being  disturbed  in  fnind 
with  a  variety  of  alarms  is  easily  dispirited ;  and  who« 
ever  has  been  once  thus  mortified  by  the  mere  force 
of  imagination  (a  mortification  which  it  never  gives 
but  at  the  first  congress^  because  that  is  the  most 
ardent  and  eager,  and  because  also,  at  this  first  trial, 
a  man  is  most  timorous  of  miscarrying),  whoever,  I 
say,  has  made  a  bad  beginning,  he  becomes  in^ 
and  peevish  at  the  accident,  which  will  be  apt  to  stioc 
to  him  upon  future  occasions. 
How  aur«      As  for  married  men,  whose  time  is  all  their  6wn» 
^^to    they  ought  neither  to  be  too  hasty,  nor  so  much  as 
t^r  thu  ^  attempt  the  feat,  if  they  are  not  prepared.    And 
ud?^^^    it  were  better  to  fiul  in  the  decorum  of  handselling 
the  nuptial  sheets,  when  a  man  is  fiillof  agitati<m 
and  trembling,  and  to  wait  another  opportunity,  at 
a  more  private  and  tranquil  juncture,  than  to  make 
himself  perpetually  miserable,  by  being  confi^unded 
and  enrag^  for  being  baffled  at  the  first  attadc. 
'Till  possession  be  taken,  a  man,  subject  to  this  in-^ 
firmity,'  should  leisurely,  and  by  degrees,  make  se- 
veral slight  trials  and  offers,  without  provoking  him* 
self,  and  striving  against  the  grain,  m  order  to  be 
fully  convinced  in  his  own  mind  of  his  ability.    Such 
.  as  know  their  members  to  be  naturally  obedient  to 
their  .desire;s,  need  only  be  carefiil  to  counterplot 
their  fancy, 
ffone  The  indocile  liberty  of  this  member  is  sufficiently 

"it^Mii."  remarkable,  by  its  importunate  demand  when  we  have 
em,  othere  nothing  fi^r  it  to  do,  and  by  so  imperiously  disputing 
•re  the  j|jg  ^n^ority  with  our  will,  and  with  so  much  pride 
and  obstinacy^  denying  all  solicitations  both  manual 
and  mental*  "And  yet  though  its  rebellion  is  so  in- 
solent 9S  to  give  sufficient  proof  to  condemn  it,  if  I 
were  feed  to  plead  its  cause,  I  should  perhiqps  bring 

>  l^f  Montttlgiio  here. mentions  Theano,  the  famous  Pythagorean 
woman,  who  was  the  wife,  and  not  the  daughter-in-law  of  Fj^tha- 
goras:  See  Diogenes  Laertius  in  the  Life  m  Pythagoras,  h'b.  Yiii. 
segm.  42.  It  is  M.  Menage  who  has  taken  notice  of  this  small  mis* 
take  of  Montaigne.    Diogenes  IJaertiuBy  torn.  xxxv.  p.  50Q»  coL  2» 


TH£  POWER  OF  IMAGINATIOy.  lOl 

its  fellow-members  into  a  suspicion  of  contriving  this 
mischief  against  it  underhand,  out  of  pure  envy  at 
the  importance  and  riaivishing  delight  peculiar  to  its 
employment,  and  of  arming  mankind  against  it  by 
malevolently  charging  it  atone  with  their  common    ' 
offence.    For  I  leave  it  to  be  considered,  whether 
there  is  any  one  part  of  our  bodies  which  does  not 
often  refuse  to  operate  as  w6  would  have  it,  and  often 
exercise  its  function  in  opposition  to  the  will.   They 
have  every  one  of  them  proper  passions  of  their  own 
that  awake  0!i^  stupify  them  without  our  leave.    How 
often  do  the  involuntary  motions  of  the  countenance 
discover  our  secret  thoughts,  and  betray  us  to  by« 
standers  ?  The  same  cause  that  animates  this  mem- 
ber, does  also,  without  our  perceiving  it,  animate  the 
heart,  lungs,  and  pulse,  the  very  sight  of  an  agree- 
able  object  imperceptibly  inflaming  us  with  a  feverish 
disorder.    Is  it  those  veins  and  muscles  only  that 
swell  and  flag  without  the  approbation,  not  only  of 
our  will,  but  of  our  opinion  r  We  do  not  command 
.  our  hairs  to  stand  on  end,  nor  our  flesh  to  tremble, 
^ith  desire  or  fear.    The  hand  often  conveys  itself 
to  parts  which  we  donot  direct  it.    The  tongue  fal- 
ters, and  the  voice  is  sometimes  interruptiM  when  we 
cannot  help  it.    When  we  have  nothing  to  eat,  and 
would  willingly  allay  the  appetite  both  of  eating  and 
drinking,  it  nevertheless  provokes  the  parts  that  are 
suscep^le  of  it,  and  abandons  us  in  like  manner, 
and  as  unseasonabl}^,  as  the  other  appetite  of  which 
we  have  been  speaking.    The  vessels  that  serve  to 
discharge  the  belly  have  their  proper  dilatations  and 
compressions  without  and  beyond  our  direction,  as  ^ 
well  as  those  which*  are  destined  for  evacuating  the 
reins. /And  that  which,  ibr  justifying  the  prieroga- 
tive  ofSmr  wiU,  is  urged  by  St.  Augustine  viz.  That 
he  had  seen  a  man  who*  could  command  his  back- 

*  Somcy  without  any  shame,  utter  such  a  variety  of  sounds  from 
their  fundaments  at  their  will,  as  if  they  seemed  to  sing  from  that 
part,  Aug.  de  Civit.  Dei.  lib.  xiv.  cap.  2*.  To  which  Vives  adds, 
oy  wayofcommeDtary,  *  Such  was,  in  our  tinie,  a  certain  Qerman  in 


log  THE  POWER  OP  IMAGINATION* 

side  to  discharge  as  many  &-*t8  as  he  pleased,  and 
which  Vives  mustrated  by  another  example  in  his 
time,  of  one  that  could  let  them  off  in  tune,^^dpes 
tiot  suppose  that  part  to  be  any  more  obedientjtlian 
the  others ;  fpr  is  any  thing  commonly  more  noisy  or 
indiscreet  ?  To  which  let  me  add,  that  I  myself  knew 
pae  so  turbulent  and. refractory  that  way,  that  for 
forty  years  together  made  his  master-vent  with  one 
continued  explosion  without  iptermission.  I  could  ^ 
heartily  wish,  that  I  only  knew  by  reading,  how  oft 
a  man's,  belly,  by  the  snipthering  of  one  single  f— t 
has  brought  him  to  the  very  door  of  »  tormenting 
death.;  ^d  that  the  emperor,*  who  gave  liberty  to  f— t 
any  where,  bad  at  the  s%me  time  given  us  the  power 
of  doing  it,  3ut  fis  to  our  will,  for  the  sake  of  whose 
prerogatives  we  prefer  this  accusation,  with  how 
jnuch  greater  probability  might  we  not  reproach  it 
with  rebellion  and  sedition,  by  its  irregularity  and 
disobedience  ?  Does  it  always  <>perate  as  we  would 
have  it  ?  Dpes  it  not  often  will  what  we  forbid  it  to 
y^ill,  An4  to  our  manifest  dams^e  ?  Does  it  suffer 
itself,  more  th^n  any  of  the  other  fs^culties,  to  be 
directed  by  the  results  of  our  reason  ?  To  copcludes 
I  should  move,  in  the  behalf  of  thg^jgenj^emaQ,  my 
plient,  that  it  might  be  considered,  that  though  in 
this  pirqupistance  his  cause  is  inseparably  and  indis- 
tinctly conjoined  with  an  accomplice,  yet  he  only  is 
called  in  qvie^tion,  and  that  by  argumepte  and  ac- 
cusations that  cannot  be  charged  upon  his  ^aid  ac- 
complice, who  sometimes  invites  at  a  wrpng^easpn, 
and  never  refuses,  and  who  allures  tacitly>nd  clan- 
destinely. Therefore  is  the  malice  and  injustice  of 
his  accusers  Jinanifestly  apparent.  But  be.  that  ^  it 
will,  let  the  advocates  and  j  lodges  p^rss  sentence  as 
th^y  plei^e,  nature  will  have  its  course,  s^nd  slie 

f  the  retinue  of  Maximilian  the  emperor,  and  his  son  Philip ;  nor  was  ;  - 
*  there  any  tune  which  he  coul^  not  imitate  with  his  imnvodest  f— 1».'  \ 

*  Claudius,  the  fifth  Roman  emperor.  But  Suetonius  only  relates, 
that  it  was  said  the  emperor  Claudius  had  a  design  to  authorise  this 
freedom  any  where,  even  at  toasts,'   Sec  the  Life  of  Claudius,  cap.  32, 


•THE  POWEH  OF  IMAGINATION.  lOS 

^ould  have  d(^e  no  more  than  justice,  if  she  had 
^endowed  this  member  with  some  special  privilege,  as 
the  author  of  the  only  immortal  work  of  mortds  5 
the  divine  work,  according  to  Socrates,  and  love,  the 
desire  of  immortality,  and  the  immortal  daemon 
iiimse1£  •        '/ 

Some  one,  perhaps,  by  such  an  effect  of  imagine  coofld«icf 
lion,  leaves  the  king*s-evil  behind  him,  which  hifi|?^^^ 
companion  carries  back  into  Spain.  This  is  the  rea-tru»otct  to 
son  why  in  such  cases  it  is  usual  to  require  the  mindJJj^^US^jJ 
to  be  prepared  for  the  thing  which  is  to  be  under- 
taken, why  do  the  physicians  practice  beforehand 
*^iipon  the  credulity  of  their  patient  with  so  many  false 
promises  of  his  cure,  unless  it  were  that  the  force  cf 
imagination  might  be  a  salvo  for  the  imposture  of 
•their  apozems  ?  They  know  that  a  great  master  of 
their  faculty  has  left  it  under  his  hand,  that  theirib 
<are  some  men  on  whom  the  very  sight  of  a  medicine 
has  operated.  What  has  put  this  whinmcal  conceit 
into  my  head,  is  the  remembrance  of  a  stdiy  that  Was 
told  me  by  a  domestic  of  my  late  father's  apothecary, 
^n  honest  Swiss,  whose  countrymen  are  not  given  to 
<vaniQr  nor  lying,  viz.  That  he  had  known  a  merchant 
at  Thoulouse,  who,  being  a  valetudinarian,  and  af^ 
^ttcted  iKith  the  stone,  had  frequent  occasion  to  take 
cljrsters,  of  which  he  caused  several  sorts  to  be  pre- 
scribed to  him  by  the  physicians,  according  to  the 
accidents  of  the  disease,  and  they  being  brought  to 
him  with  all  the  usual  forms,  he  often  felt  with  his 
finger  whether  they  were  not  too  hot.  Being  laid 
down.pn  his^bed,  the  syringe  put  up,  and  all  the  ap- 
paratus performed,  except  injection,  the  apothecary 
bdng  retired,  aind  the  patient  treated  in  all  respects  as 
if  he  had  received  a  clyster,  he  found  the  same  efiect 
^at  those  do  to  whom  it  has  been  actually  adminis- 
tered. If  at  any  time  the  physician  did  not  think 
the  c^eration  sufficient;  he  gave  him  two  or  three 
more  after  the  same  manner.  The  Swiss  moreover 
swore  to  me,  that^  to  save  charges  (for  he  paid  as  if 


104  THE  POWER  OF  IMAGIKATIOW. 

he  had  really  taken  the  dyrters)  the  patierit's  wife 
having  sometimes  made  trial  of  wann  water  only, 
the  effect  discovered  the  cheats  and  finding  these 
would  do  no  good,  he  was  fiun  to  return  to  ue  old 
way. 
A  distein.      A  woman  fancying  she  had  swallowed  a  pin  in  m 
tmcM  by  f^^<^  of  bread,  cried  out,  sadlv  complaining  of  an 
mere       mtolcrablc  pain  in  her  throat,  where  she  thought  she 
J^JH  felt  it  stick*  But  an  ingenious  fellow  who  was  wought 
f  "B-       to  her,  finding  no  outward  tumour,  nor  alteration, 
and  guessing  that  it  was  only  a  conceit  she  h^d  takea 
at  some  crust  of  bread  that  had  pricked  her  as  it  went 
down,  gave  her  a  vomit,  and  probably  dropped  a 
crooked  pin  into  the  bason,  which  the  woman  ima- 
gining she  had  voided,  presently  fdund  herself  eased 
of  her  pain.    I  myself  knew  a  gentleman,  who 
liaving  made  9n  entertainment  at  his  own  house  for 
some  company,  gave  put,  three  or  four  days  after  it, 
by  way  of  jest  omy  (for  there  was  no  such  thing)  that 
he  had  made  them  eat  a  baked  cat ;  at  which  a  young 
lady  that  was.one  of  the  guests  took  such  an  abo- 
minable disgust,  that  she  was  seized  with  a  violent 
sickness  at  her  stomach,  and  a  fever,  to  such  a  d^ree, 
that  there  was  no  possiblity  of  saving  her. 
The  brute      That  Other  animals  are- subject  to  the  power  of 
rabj^^to^i^^^gi^iation  as  well  as  man,  has  been  seen  in  some 
t^'S^  dogs,  which  have  died  of  grief  for  tti^e  loss  of  their 
Bati!^'  masters.    We  observe  them  also  to  bark  and  tremble 
^^[^^^"^^in  their  sleep,  as  horses  will  neigh  and  kick  in  theirs. 
tMe'Myof  But  all  this  j^fiay  be  ascribed  to  the  close  connection 
««>^''    betwixt  the  body  and  soul,  mutually  imparting  what 
they  feel  to  each  other. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  imagination  operates  some- 
times, not  upon  its  own  body  only,  but  upon  the 
body  of  another,  just  in  the  same  manner  as  an  in- 
jected body  communicates  its  distemper  to  its  neigh<> 
hour,  as  we  perceive  in  the  plague,  small-pox,  md 
sore  ey^^  which  are  conveyed  from  one  body  to 
another : 


TBB  POWSB  OF  IM AOIKATIOIT.  105 

Dwm  speotaM  ocuB  Ubsos,  taeduniur  Vipsi: 
JiuUcujue  corporilms  irmsUione  noceni.*  i.  e. 

Viewing  Mie  eyes^  eyes  to  be  aore  are  broiight, 
Aod  many  ills  are  by  uansition  caught. 

So  die  imaginationy  being  vehemently  agitated,  emits 
ideas  catfame'of  hurting  another  object  We  read  in 
ancient  liiiitory,  of  certain  women  in  Soythia,  who,  be- 
hiff  animated  and  enraged  against  any  one,  kffled  them 
om^  with  their  looks.  Turtles  and  ostriches  hatch 
^Ib^vi  egi^  with  only  looking  at  them ;  which  shows 
-thtt  theur  eyes  have  a  certain  power  to  dart.  And  the 
'eyeB  of  sorcerers  are  said  to  be  malignant  and  hurtfol: 

Nesch  quis  ienert>s  oculus  mikifascinat  agnos.\  i«e. 

What  eye  it  is  I  do  not  know, 
'  My  tender  lambs  bewitches  so. 
'  / 
'^  Magicians  are  but  bad  vouehers  for  me ;  yet  we  The  imasi. 

find  by  experience,  that  women  imprint  the  marks  ^^•^ 
of  their  £incy  on  the  infimts  they  bear  in  their  wombs,  with  chudw 
Witness  her  that  was  brought  to  bed  of  a  n^ro,  and 
the  girl  that  was  brouj^t  Kom  the  neighbourhood  of 
Pisa,  and  presented  to  Charles,  king  of  Bohemia, 
and  emperor,  all  over  rough  and  hairy,  whom  her 
mother  is  said  to  have  conceived  when  she  was  look- 
ing at  an  image  of  St  John  the  Bi4[>tist,  that  hung 
by  her  bed-side.  - 

It  is  the  same  with  animals ;  witness  Jacob's  sheep,'  The  potter 
fmd  the  partridges  and  hares,  which  turn  out  white  j)^^^"^ 
jupon  the  snowy  moimtains.    There  was  at  my  house,  nah. 
a  little  while  ago,  a  cat  watching  a  bird  that  was  at 
liie  top  of  a  tree,  and  after  having  fixed  their  eyes 
stedfiutly  upon  one  another  for  some  time,  the  bird 
dropped  down  dead,  as  it  were,  into  the  cat's  claws ; 
either  being  intoxicated  by  its  own  imagination,  or 
allured  by  some  attractive  power  in  puss.    They 
who  are  rond  of  hawking,  must  no  doubt  have  heard 
the  stoiy  of  the  fidconer,  who,  having  steadily  fixed 

*  Ovid,  de  Remedio  Amoris,  lib.  iL  ver.  390. 
f  VirgiL  Eclogue  vL  ver.  189. 


106  THE  TOWEB,  OF  IMAGIKATIOK. 

his  eye  upon  a  kite  in  the  air,  laid  a  wager'  that  he 
would  bring  her  down  by  the  mere  power  of  his 
sight ; .and  it  was  said  he  did  so.  As  for  the  tales  I 
borrow,  I  charge  them  upon  the  consciences  of  those 

^£rom  whom  I  have  them.  Tht  arguments  are  my 
own,  and  founded  upon  the  proof  of  reason,  not  <^ 
experience,  to  which  every  one  is  at  the  liberty  of 

^adding  his  own  examples :  and  he  that  has  none  to 
offer,  }et  him  believe,  nevertheless,  that  Ii^re  are 

^ougl),  considering  the  number  and  variety  6f  ac- 
cidents. .If  I  have  not  made  a  just  application  tit 
them,  let  any  body  else  make  a  better.  Also  ip.the 
subjects  whereon  I  treat  of  our  manners  and  motives, 
the  testimonies  which  I  produce,  how  fabulous  soever, 
provided  they  are  not  impossible,  serve  as  well  as  the 
true  ones,  n  hether  they  happened  or  not,  at  Rome  or 
at  Paris,  to  John  or  to  Peter,  it  is  still  a  turn  ;of  the 
human  capacity,  of  which  I  have  made  good  use  by 
this  recital.  I  see  it,  and  benefit  by  it,  as  much  in 
the  shadow  as  in  the  substance ;  and  of  the  variotts 
passages  I  meet  with  in  history,  I  select  that  for  my 

5urpdse  which  is  the  most  rare  and  remarkable, 
'here  are  $ome  authors,  whose  aim  it  is  to  give  an 
account  of  things  that  have  really  happened ;  mine, 
if  I. can  attain  to  it,*  should  be  to^epresent  w4iat  may 
.  possibly  happen.    There  is  a  just  liberty  allowed  in 
the  schools,  of  supposii^  similes  when  they  have  none 
at  hand.  <  I  do  not,  however,  make  any  use  of  that 
liberty  ;  and  as  to  that  afiair  in  superstitious  rdigion, 
I  surpass  all  historical  authority,  in  die  instances 
which  I  here  mention  of  what  I  have  heard,  read, 
done,  or  said.     I  have  laid  myself  under  a  prohibi- 
tion to  presume  to  alter  the  slightest  and  most  trifling 
circumstances.     My  conscience*  does  not  falsify  one 
tittle ;  what  my  ignorance  may  do,  I  cannot  say. 
u^MittJ^     1'^^^  ^^  ^^  ^^^^  makes  me  sometimes  ponder  with 
Mc  with  a  myself,  whether  it  can  be  ^consistent  with  a  divine 
phrr'*and  a^^^  ^  philosophcr,  and  men  of  such  delicate  con- 
divine  to    scieuccs,  aud  exquisite  wisdom,  to  write  history, 
writehi»to.  jj^^  can  they  stake  their  credit  on  that  erf  the  put)- 


THE  POVBE  OF  IMAGINATION.  107 

lie  ?  How  can  they  be  responsible  for  the  opinions 
of  men  whom  they  do  not  Iknow,  and  deliver  their 
conjectures  as  cajlofiical  ?  Of  actions  performed  be- 
fore their  own  eyes,  wherein  several  people  were  ac- 
tors, they  Would  be  unwilling  to  give  evidence  before 
a  judge,  and  they  would  not  undertake  to  be  abso- 
lute surety  for  the  intentions  of  their  most  familiar 
acquaintance.  For  my  part,  I  think  there  is  less 
hazard  in  writing  of  things  p^t,  than  present,  for- 
asmuch as  the  writer  only  relates  matters  upon  the 
authority  of  others. 

I  am  solicited  to  write  the  history  of  my  own  timely  mho. 
by  some  people,  who  think  I  look  upon  its  aflkirs'„of^riTe"* 
with  an  eye  less  prejudiced  than  another,  and  that  I****  Y'*^^ 
have  a  clearer  insist  into  them,  by  reason  of  the  ac-tfai^l'  *"*" 
cess  which  I  have  had,  bv  my  good  fortune,  to  the 
leaders  of  the  different  factions ;  but  they  dp  not 
consider  that,  were  I  to  giih  the  reputation  of  Sal- 
lust,  I  would  not  take  the  pains,  being  such  a  sworn 
enemy,  as  I  ^m,  to  all  oblieration,  assiduity,  and 
perseverance ;  besides,  that  there  is  nothing  so  in- 
consistent with  my  style,  as  an  extended  narration. 
I  often,  cut  myself  short  in  it  for  want  of  breath.  I 
am  neither  good  at  composition  nor  comment,  and 
know  no  more  thstn  a  child  the  phrases  and  idioms 
proper  for  expressing  the  most  common  things; 
therefore  I  have  undertaken  to  treat  of  what  I  know 
how  td  express,  and  have  accommodated  my  subject 
to  my  capacity.  Should  I  take  a  guide,  I  might  not 
beable  to  keep  pace  with  hifiri.  Nor  do  they  consi- 
der, that  while  lindulge  such  a  freedom,  I  might  de- 
liver opinions,  which,  in  my  own  judgment,  and  ac- 
cording to  reason,  would  be  illegal  and  punishable. 
Plutarch  would  be  ready  to  tell  us,  that  what  he  has 
wrote  is  the  work  of  others ;  that  his  examples  arc 
all  md  every  where  strictly  true ;  that  they  are  use- 
ful to  posterity ;  and  are  exhibited  with  such  a  lustre, 
as  will  light  us  in  the  way  to  virtue,  which  was  his 
aim.  Whether  an  old  stoty  be  true  or  false,  it  is  not 
of  dangerous  consequence. 


lOS  ONE  man's  profit  IS  ANOTHER'S  LOSS. 

CHAPTER  XXL 

One  Man^s  Profit  is  another^s  Loss. 

JL/EMADESy  the  Athenian^  condemned  a  fellow* 
citizen,  who  ibmished  out  funerals,  for  demanding 
too  great  a  price  for  his  goods  ?  and  if  he  got  an  es* 
tate,  it  must  be  by  the  death  of  a  great  many  people: 
but  I  think  it  a  sentence  ill  grounded,  forasmucn  as 
no  profit  can  be  made,  but  at  the  expense  o£  some 
other  person,  and  that  every  kind  of  gain  is  by  that 
rule  liable  to  be  condemned.   The  tradesman  urives 
by  the  debauchery  of  youth,  and  the  farmer  by  the 
deamess  of  com ;  the  architect  by  the  ruin  of  build- 
ings, the  officers  of  justice  by  quarrels  and  law-suits ; 
na3^,   even  the  honour  and  function  of  divines  is 
owing  to  our  mortality  and  vices.  No  physician  takes 
pleasure  in  the  health  even  of  his  best  fiiends,  said 
the  ancient  Greek  comedian,  nor  soldier  in  the  peace 
of  his  country ;  and  so  of  the  rest.'^     And,  what  is 
yet  worse,  let  every  one  but  examine  his  own  heart, 
and  he  will  find,  that  his  private  wishes  spring  and 
grow  up  at  the  expense  of  some  other  person.    Upon 
which  consideration  this  thought  came  into  my  head, 
that  nature  does  not  hereby  deviate  from  her  general 
policy ;  for  the  naturalists  hold,  that  the  birth,  nou- 
rishment, and  increase  of  any  one  thing  is  the  decay 
and  corruption  of  another: 

Nam  quodcunqiie  suis  mutatumjimbtis  exit, 
Continuo  hoc  mors  est  iUhiSf  quodjuit  ajite.f  i.  e. 

For  what  from  its  own  confines  changed  doch  pass. 
Is  straight  the  death  of  what  before  it  was.  ' 

*  Seneca  dc  Beneficiis,  Ub,  vi.  cap.  38,  from  whence  most  of  this 
chapter  is  taken, 
f  Lucret.  lib.  iii.  ver.  752,  753. 


«]r  CUSTOM  AK9  MWi.  Mi 


CHAPTER  XXIL 


Of  Custom^  and  the  Difficulty  of  changing  a  Law 
once  received^ 

xN  my  opinion^  that  person  had  a  veiy  ri^ht  con«The  ferae 
ception  of  the  power  of  custom,  who  mvented*^***^^^ 
the  fable  of  the  countrywoman,*  who  having  played 
with,  and  carried  in  her  arms,  a  calf  from  the  very 
hour  it  was  cast,  and  continuing  to  do  so  as  it  grew 
up,  did,  by  that  custom,  gain  so  much  strength,  that 
though  it  lived  to  be  a  large  ox,  she  still  carried  iL 
For,  in  truth,  custom  is  a  violent,  and  yet  an  insi«> 
nuating  school-mistress ;  she  estabUshesher  authority 
over  us  gradually,  and  by  stealth ;  but  having  by 
such  a  gentle  and  huvible  beginning  planted  and 
fixed  it,  she  immediately  unmasks,  and  shows  us 
a  furious  and  tyrannic  countenance,  against  which 
we  hardly  dare  so  much  as  to  lift  up  our  eyes.  We 
see  her  at  every  turn  breaking  through  the  laws  of 
nature ;  usus  tfficacissimus  rerum  omnium  magister;\ 
i.  e.  Custom  is  the  greatest  tyrant  in  nature.  I  give 
credit  to  the  account  of  Plato's  cave  in  his  republic, 
and  to  the  custom  of  the  physicians,  who  so  often 
resign  the  reasons  of  their  art  to  its  authority.  I 
belieye  the  story  of  that  king,  who,  by  custom,  ** 

brought  his  stomach  to  that  pass,  as  to  take  poison 
for  its  nourishment ;  and  that  of  the  young  woman, 
who,  Albert  reports,  was  accustomed  to  live  on 
poison  ;  for  in  the  late  discovered  world  of  the  In^ 
dies,  there  were  found  grieat  nations,  and  in  very 
difierent  dimates,  who  lived  upon  them,  collected  and 

*  Itis  become  a  kind  of  proveib,  which  Petronius  has  thus  ex- 
preesed, 

— roBere  tawnm 
Q^a  tulerit  vUulum  Ulapoteit. 
You  will  alto  find  it  among  the  adages  of  Erasmus,  Chil.  L  Cent.  2. 
Ad.  51. 
f  FUnjr'sNat.  Ifist.  lib.  un*  cq>.  2. 


110  6T  CtJ&tOM  AKD  LaW^ 

fed  them  for  their  tables,  to  they  also  did  griss' 
hoppers j  mice,  lizafds,  and  bats ;  ^And,  in  dearth  of 
provisions^  a  toad  was  sold  for  six  crowns  ;  all  which 
they  dressy  and  serve. up  with  various  sauces.    Ther« 
were  others  also  found,  to  whom  the  flesh  we  eat, 
and  our  other  provisions  were  deadly  poison.     Con" 
suetudhiis  magna  vis  est :  pernoctantvenatores  in  nU 
H^e :  in  montwus  uri  se  pafiuntur :  pugilts  aestibus 
contusij  ne  ingemiscunt  quidem ;*    i.e.  Great  is  the 
power  of  custom.    It  makes  huntsmen  pass  whole 
nights  in  the  snow,  and  to  suffer  themselves  in  the 
day  to  be  parched  with  heat  on  the  mountains ;  and 
the  prize-nghters,  though  beat  almost  to  a  jelly,  not 
so  much  as  to  utter  a  single  groan.  .  These  foreign 
instances  will  not  be  thought  so  strange,  if  we  con- 
sider,  what  we  know  by  common  experience,  how 
much  custom  dulls  our  senses.  ■  To  be  satisfied  of 
this,  we  need  not  go  to  the  Nile  to  be  certified  of 
what  is  reported  of  tliose  who  live  near  its  cataracts; 
nor  need  we  discredit  \vhat  the  philosophers  think  of 
the  music  of  the  spheres,  that  the  bodies  of  those  cir- 
cles being  solid  and  smooth,  and  happening  to  touch 
and  rub  one  another  in  their  motion,  cannot  fail  to 
produce  a  wonderful  harmony,  by  the  quavers  and. 
changes  whereof  the  revolutions  and  carols,  (i.e. 
dances)  of  the  stars  are  modulated.     We  are  to  take 
it  for  granted,  that  the  hearipjg  &culty  of  all  crea- 
tures here  bejow. being  stupi&d,  like  that  of  the 
Egyptians,  by  the  continuance  of  this  sound,  cannot 
perceive  it,  how  great  soever.     Smiths,  millers,  ar- 
mourers,  and  the  Kke,  cpuld.never  be  able  to  live  in 
the  noise  of  their  trades,  if  it  struck  their,  ears  with 
the  same  violence  as  it  does  ours.     My  perfumed 
band  gratifies  my  own  nostrils  at  first,  but  after  I 
have  worn  it  a  little  whiles  it  is  only  smelt  l^y  those 
who  come  near  me  ;  but  it  is  yet  more  strangq  that . 
custom,  notwithstanding  the  long  intermissions  and 
intervals,  should  yet  have  the  power  to  unite  ieind' 

*  Clc4  Tusc  Que$ti  lib.  u.  cap.  17# 


W  tXS6ft6U  AKD  1  AW.  1 1 1 

estfthUsh  tlie  effect  of  its  impressions  upon  our  siBn^^ 
as  those  cxperienee  who  live  near  churches  where 
tfaefe  imaging  of  beSs.  I  lie  at  home  in  a  turret^ 
where  every  morning  and  evening  a  very  great  bell 
rings  Out  the  Avt  Maria j  the  noise  of  wnicb  shakes 
the  bed  under  me,  and  at  first  I  thought  it  iii^up* 
portable;  but  a  little  time  made  it  so  familial  to  me, 
that  I  now  hear  it  without  offence^  and  often  it  does 
not  awaken<  me.    i     .       ' 

Plato  having  reproved  a  boy  for  playing  with  nuts^  vic«  tak< 
the  child:»id,  *  You  blftme  me  for  a  trifle/    Plato  i;,^;^ I j;,^^^ 
replied,  *  Custom  is  not  such  a  trij9e.**    I  observe,  >«",  and 
that  our  greatest  vices  are  derived  from  the  irtJpres^^^^Vorcto 
sion  niade  on  us  in  our  most  tender  years,  and  that»>e  correct. 
we  are  principally  governed  by  our  nurses.    The^*//"***"*'' 
mothers  are  delighted  in  seeing  a  child  twist  the 
neck  of  a  chicken,  and  diveft  itself  in  hurting  a  pup- 
py or  a  kitten.     And  there  ai^e  such  silly  fathers  in 
the  world,  as  think  it  a  happy  presage  of  a  warlike 
spirit,  when  they  see  their  sons  fall  foul  on  an  innd^ 
cent  peasant,  or  a  lackey,  that  dares  not  hold  up  his    ' 
hand  in  his  d^ence.    They  think  it  shows  a  genius 
in  a  lad,  when  they  see  him  outwitting  his  play-fellpw 
by  some  unlucky  trick  or  knavery ;  yet  these  are  the 
true  seeds  and  roots  of  cruelty,  tyranny,  and  trea^ 
chery.     In  these  years  they  bud,  and  afterwards 
sprout  up  vigorously  in  the  hands  of  custom ;  and  it 
is  a  very  dangerous  error  to  excuse  these  vile  incli- 
nations by  the  tenderness  of  years,  and  the  levity 
of  the  subject.     In  the  first  place,  it  is  nature  that 
speaks,  the  voice  of  which  is  tnen  more  pure  and  ge- 
nuine, as  it  is  younger  and  more  shrill.     SeconcUy, 
the  deformity  of  cozenage  does  not  depend  on  the 
diffisrence  betwixt  crown  pieces  and  pins,  but  merely 
upon  itself;  and  I  should  think  it  more  just  to  rea- 
son thus.  Why  would  he  not  cheat  for  a  crown,  since 

•  *  Diogenes  LaertioBy  inthelifeofPlatOy  lib.  iiLsegm.  38;  where 
he  does  hot  say  that  the  person  reproved  by  Plato  was  a  child,  and. 
that  he  played  with  nuts ;  but  he  sap^  that  he  played  with  dice^ 
which  renders  Hato's  answer  of  lAuoh  more  importance. 


112  .AF  CUSTOM  AND  LAW. 

he  does  so  for  g  pin  ?  tban  to  argue  as  tli^y  do,  who 
say.  He  only  plays  fbrpins ;  he  would  not  cheat,  if 
it  was  tor  money.  Cnildreit  should  be  carefiilly 
taught  to  abhor  the  vices  of  their  own  contriviiif  , 
and  the  natural  deformity  of  then  ought  to  be  so  re^ 
presented,  that  they  may  not  only  avoid  them  in 
their  actions,  but  to  hate  them  from  their  hearts^ 
that  the  very  thought  of  them  may  be  odious  to  them^ 
what  mask  soever  they  wear.  I  know  verjr  well, 
that  for  my  own  part,  having  been  trained  in  my 
childhood  to  walk  in  a  plain  op^n  path,  and  having 
then  entertained  an  aversion  to  all  manner  of  tridc^ 
ing  and  shuiBing  in  my  childish  sports  (as  it  must 
be  noted,  that  the  pla^s  of  children  are  not  in  jest, 
but  must  be  judged  or  as  their  most  serious  actions)^ 
tliere  is  no  pastime,  how  trifling  soever,  wherein  I 
partake,  in  which  I  do  not  abhor  deceit,  from  my 
natural  inclination,  and  without  study.  I  shuf&e 
and  cut  the  cards,  and  keep  as  strict  an  account  for 
a  livre,  as  if  it  were  for  a  double  pistole ;  and  when 
I  play  in  ^ood  earnest  for  a  round  sum,  it  is  with  the 
same  indifference,  whether  I  win  or  lose,  as  when  I 
play  against  my  wife  or  daughter.  At  all  times,  and 
xn  all  places,  my  own  eyes  are  a  sufficient  watch  upon 
my  actions.  I  am  not  so  narrpwly  observed  by  any 
others,  nor  are  there  any  that  I  am  more  cautious  of 
offending. 
Tee^  form.  I  saw,  the  othcr  day,  at  my  own  house,  a  little  fel- 
•ffi!!^tf*'*low,  a  native  of  Nantes,  bom  without  arm«j  who  hag 
iiaiidt.  so  well  disciplined  his  feet  to  perform  the  services  his 
hands  should  have  done  him,  that  in  reality  his  feet 
have  in  a  great  measure  forgot  their  natural  office. 
Moreover,  he  calls  them  his  hands ;  he  cuts  with 
them,  charges  and  discharges  a  pistol,  threads  a 
needle,  sews,  writes,  puts  off  his  hat,  combs  his 
head,  plays  at  cards  and  dice,  and  all  this  with  a& 
much  dexterity  as  any  body;  and  the  money  I 
gave  him  he  c^ried  away  in  his  foot  as  we  do  in  our. 
hand. 


or  CUfiTOH  ANB  LAW*.  US 

r  knfew' Another,  who,  -when  he  was  but  i(  lad^A  boy 
flourished  a  fwo*handed  sword,  and  a  halbert,  mpdy  il^i^  ^ou. . 
by  tht  twisting  and  twining  of  his  neck  for  want  ofri^iiai  > 
hands,  tOMedtheooi.into  the  sir,  and  catdied them {^^^''I'Sfe'm^ 
again;  darted  a  dateer,  and  cradced  a  whq>  as  well|^<*f  ^>* 
as  any  Waggoner  in  France.    But  the  effects  of  cus« 
torn  are  mudi  better  discovered,  by  the  strange  impress 
sion  it  makes  on  our  minds,  where  it  does  not  meet 
withsomnchresbtaace.  'What  has  it  not  the  nower  to 
imtiose  upon  onr  judgment  and  crediiiity  i  C)mitting 
the  gross  impostures  m  religioh,  widi  which  we  have 
Been  so  many  j^tilous  nations,  and  so  many  able 
men  intoxicated  (for  this  being  beyond  the  sphere . 
of  human  reason,  an  error  is  more  excusable  in  such 
«s  are  not  by  the  divine  fitvour  enli^tened  in  an  ex*- 
traordinary  manner) ;  is  there  any  oraiuon  so  fkntastic, 
but  there  are  others  as  strange,  which  it  has  {Wanted 
find  estaUtshed  as  laws  in  whatsoever  countries  it 
thought  fit    And  therefore  that  mcient  exclamation 
was  exceeding  just,  Ntm  pudet  Phystcuniy  id  est, 
s^cuUtorem^  venatoremque  Natura  ab  animis  con' 
suetudine  imbutis  quitrere  testimonium  veritatis  f^   Is 
it  not  a  shame  fiir  a  natural  philosopher,  whose  busi^ 
ness  it  is  to  investigate  and  pry  into  die  secrets  of 
nature,  to  have  reconrse  to  the  pr^udioe  of  custom 
ibf  the  evidence  of  truth  ? 

I  reckon,  that  there  is  no  fancy,  how  absuni  so*  Theodd 
ever,  that  can  enter  into  the  imamnation  of  man,^<>»<^ 
biit  it  has  the  example  of  some  pubuc  practice,  and  i  ^^  '^ 
which  is  a  sanction  to  onr  reason.    There  are  people 
amongst  iriiom  it  is  a  fishion  to  turn  their  backs 
upon  the  person  whom  they  salute,  and  not  to  look 
in  the  &ce  of  the  man  whom  they  mean  to  honour. 
There  is  a  court  where,  whenever  the  king  spits,  the 
iady  tiiat  is  his  chief  Qtvourite  holds  out  her  band  to 
xeoeive  it;   and  another  nation,  where  Ae  moA 
teminent  persons  about  the  soverei^i  stpop  to  die 

*  Cic  de  Nst  DttorotD^  lib.  L  caa.  SO,  trakisl$t«d  Iv  tbe  Abhi  , 
4rO]kfeu 

VOL.  U  I 


/ 


Ii4f  or  cvnou  Ain>  law# 

^ound  to  trice  up  his  ordure  iir  a*  linen  -clothe '  Let 
us  here  slip  in  k  story.  A  French  gentleman*  always 
blew  his  nose  betwixt  his  fingers  ^a  thing  very  \m- 
"  &shionatiIe  with  ns),  which  he  justified^  and  being  a 
man  who  had  wit  at  will,  he  asked  me  what  privilege 
•  '  had  this  nasty  ex(rrement,  that  wc  must  carry  a  piece 
of  fine  linai  about  us  to  receive  it  in ;  and  not  onfy 
90S  but»  moreover,  ibid  it  tip,  and  carry  it  catefidly 
about  iq  our  pockets,  whicn  miM  be  more  offensive 
than  to  see  it  thrown  away,  as  wedo  all  oor  other 
evacuations  i  I  thought  that  what  he  said  was  not 
altqeether  without  reason ;  and,  by  being  frequently 
in  his  company,  custom  made!  the  practice  appear  not 
flo  strange,  how  hideous  soever  we  think  it^  when  it 
is  reported  of  another  country.  Miracles  appear 
such,  according  to  our  ignorance  of  nature,  and  not 
laccoitling  to  the  real  essence  of  nature;  Custom 
blinds  the  eye  of  our  juc^ment.  •  We  are  as  much 
a  wonder  to  the  barbarians,  as  they  are  to  us,  and 
,with  as  much  reason,  as  every  one.  would  acknow- 
ledge, if,  after  having  reflected  upon  these  remote 
examples,  he  was  citable  of  reflecting  on  the  exam- 
ples'he  gives  himself  of  his  own  customs,  and  com- 
paring them  fairly  with  the  exam{des  and  iisages  of. 
.other  nations.  Human  nature  is  a  tincture  equally 
infused  into  all  our  opinions  and  manners,  c£  what 
form  soever  they  are,  infinite  in  matiter^  infinite  in 
diversity.  To  return  to  my  sulqect,  there  are  people 
where  This  wife  and  children  excepted)  no  one  ^peaks 
to  the  king  but  through  a  trunk.  In  one  and  the 
same  nations  the  A^gins  discover  their  secret  parts^ 
and  the  married  women  carefully  cover  and  conceal 
them.  To  this  a  certain  custom  bears  some  relation 
in  another  place,  where  chastity  is  Only  esteemed  in 
the  mairied  state,  for  there  the  unmarried  women 
may  prostitute  themselves  to  as  many  as  they  please, 
and,  when  with  cliild,  may  take  medicines  publicly 
to  procure  abortion.  And  in.  another  place,  if  a 
tradesman  marries,  all  the  tradesmen  whaare  invited 
to  the  wedding  lie  with  the  bride  before  him  ;  and 


the  tnore  of  tht»n  there  ^e;  the  greater  is  lidr  honour- 
i»nd  her  character  for  courage  and  ability.  If  an 
officer  or  nobleman  mariy,  the  caie  is  the  same ;  and 
30  it  is  with  others,  except  it  be  a  labourinjg  man,  pir 
.aflIB&,iHU^£j?w  dejjree  jjfo^  then  ^ejordof  the^ 
manor  perforins  the  office,  an^TyS  a^strict  ^5ity  Is' 
Tiyuqunended  duniig  t^ie  state  of  wecdock.  There  is 
a  pl^c^  where  m^  are  stewed  In  broihel-houses  for.' 
the  entertainment  of  the  womisn,  ilild  where,  in  the 
married  state,  the  wives  go  to  the  .wa^  as  well  as 
their,  husbands,  and  take  rank,  hot  only  in  battle, 
hoX  also  in  command.  In  some  places  they  not  only, 
w^ar  rings  in  their  nostrils,  lipis,  cneeks.  ana  toes,  but. 
very  weighty  ones  in  their  breasts  and  Duttocks..  Jn\ 
ot}iers,  when  they  eat,  they  wipe  their  fingers  upon, 
their  thighs,  their  cod-pie^e^  and  th^  soleai  of  their 
feet. .  In  some  places  tne  chudrfsh  are  not  heirs,  but 
only  the  brothers  and  nephews ;  and  elsewhei^e  only 
the  nephews,  saving  in  the  succession  to  the  crown. 
'Jliere  are  ^ome  places,  where,  ibr  the  regulation  of^ 
the  community  of  goods  and,  estates  observed-in  ihe 
counti^^  certain  sovere^  magistrates  have  an  uni- 
versal .  commission  to  cuutvate  the  lands,  and  distri^ 
bute  the  fruits  according  to  every  oh&'s  necessity* 
In  some  places  they  mourn  for  the  death  of  chiltdfreiij^ 
and  feast  at  the  decease*  of  old  men.  In  some 
places  they  lie  ten  or  twelve  in  a  bed,  men  and  theii; 
wives  together.  In  one  country,  the  women  whose 
husbands  come  to  an  untimely  end,  may  marry 
again  i  others  :not  In  another,  the  condition  ot 
women  is  90  disliked,  that  the  female  is3Ue  of  their 
marriages  are ,  destroyed,  and  they  buy  women  of 
their  neighbours  for  their  occasions*  In  some  places 
the  men  may  be  parted  from  their  wives  without 
showing  any  caifse,  but  not  the  wives  from  the  hus« 
bands  K)r  any  cause  whatever.     In  others  the  has* 

*  I  fancjT  MonHugne  took  this  from  Herodotus,  lib.  v.  p.  SSO, 
-irbere  the  l^Btoriao  8ay9»  that  certain  people  of  Thrace  weep  at.  the 
bisthi  of  their  jr<^Dg  ouldren^  andbury  taeir  dead  with  great  marks 
rf  joy* 

19 


lid  0i  6xisf6A  AM  tAVfs 

b«tt(b  ftre  ilbwedtosell  their  wives  if  tbey  dfe  bar* 
xeiu  In  others  they  boil  die  corpse  of  the  deceased^ 
and  then  bruise  it  till  it  becomes  like  a  jelly,  which 
they  mix  with  their  wine,  and  drink.  In  some 
dountties  the  most  d^siri^fe  sepulture  is  to  be  eaten 
by  dogSy^  and  elsewhere  by  birds.  It  is  the  opiniiHi, 
in  some  places,  that  the  souls  of  the  haqppy  lire  in  all 
.  manner  of  liberty,  in  pleasant  fields,  furnished  with 
all  manner  of  conveniences,  and  tlutt  the  echoes  we 
Hear  come  from  theili.  In  others  they  %ht  in  the 
water,  and  shoot  their  arrows  with  success  while 
tStey  are  swimming.  In  others  they  signify  their 
sutgeetion  by  lifting  vp  ^eir  shoulders,  and  hanging 
down  their  heads,  and  put  off  their  shoes  when  they 
totet  ihe  jEhig's  palace.  The  eunuchs  in  one  place 
jiiio  have  chiu^  ci  the  nnns^  have  moreover  their 
noses  and  1ms  cut  off,  that  they  may  be  the  less 
amiaUe;  and  ^diere  the  priests  put  out  their  own 
eyes,  to  get  acquaintance  with  tiiehr  daemons,  and  re* 
ceive  the  drades.  In  some  places  every  one  creates 
a  &dty  out  of  what  he  pleases ;  the  huntsman  deifies 
a  Hon,  or  a  fax, ;  the  fimerman,  some  fish  or  other  | 
^d  they  make  idols  of  «very  human  action  or  pas* 
sion.  The  sun,  the  moon,  and  the  earth  are  the 
nrindpal  deities ;  and  the  form  of  taking  an  oath  is 
to  touch  the  earth,  with  the  eyes  lifted  up  to  the 
son ;  and  there  they  eat  both  flesh  and  nsh  raw. 
There  is  a  place  where  the  most  solemn  oath  ist  to 
^ear  by  me  name  of  some  deceased  person  who 
WiAs  of  eminence  m  the  country,  laying  tne  hand  at 
the  same  time  on  his  tomb.  In  some  places  the 
ncw-year^s  gift  which  the  king  sends  to  the  princes 
his  vassals,  is  fire^  which  being  brought,  all  the  old 
fire  is  put  out,  and  this  new  fire  bH  the  neighbouring 
people  are  obliged  to  fetch  every  one  for  themselves, 
updn  psdn  of  incurring  the  guilt  and  punishment  of 
high  treason.    In  another  place,  when  the  king  re* 

•  Sextus  Empificns,  Pyrrh.  HypoL  lib.  iiL  cap.  24,  p.  157. 
t  Herodot  hb.  iv.  p.  318.    Mymphadarus,  lib.  xiii.  Rerum  Bar* 
baricarom* 


or  CUSTOM  AKB  LAW.  117 

tires  fioni  his  admimstratieiiy  purely  to  devote  hiia- 
sdf  to  religkm  (wliicJi  often  happeiis),  his  next  suc« 
cessor  is  obliged  to  do  the  sfiaie}  by  which  means  the 
right  of  the  govenuneot  deviriives  to  the  third  poscm 
in  the  successtcm.  In  some^jplaoes  the  form  of  p^ 
vemment  is  vwied  aeccMrding^the  ex^n^  of  affiurs • 
They  depose  the  king  when  they  think  fit,  substitute 
ing  the  elders  ijf  the  people  to  tiie  h^hn  of  gov^em- 
ment,  and  sometinies  th^  tnuMfer  it  to  the  hands 
of  the  commonalty.  In  some  parts  the  men  and 
women  are  both  eircimicised,  ana  also  bisptized.  In 
others  ^e  soldier,  who  in  one  or  several  ei^i^pe^ 
ments  has  'happened  to  bring  seven  of  the  enemas 
heads  to  the  Icmff,  is  made  noble.  In  some  eountnes 
they  entertain  the  singular  and  uftsodable  opitnon 
that  the  soul  is  mortals  In  othafs^  the  women  are 
deUvered  of  children  without  any  complaint  or  i»a& 
In  some  jilaees  they  wear  capper  boots  upon  both 
1^8,  and  if  a  louse  bites  them,*  they  are  bound  by 
the  obligation  of  magnanimilr,  to  bite  that  l^use 
again :  and  dare  not  marry^  till  they  have  &st  made 
a  tender  of  liieir  virginity.  In  other  places  the  com* 
m<m  way  of  salutation  is,  by  touching  the  earth  with 
a  finger,  and  thai  pointing  it  up  towards  heaven. 
Some  p^ces  there  are  where  llie  men  carry  burdens 
upon  tneir  heads,  and  women  upon  their  shoulders  ;t 
and  where  the  women  piss  standing,  and  the  men 
eouching  down :  where  they  send  drops  of  their 
blood  in  token  of  fijendsbip^  and  pay  tne  same  in* 
cense  to  the  men  they  woura  honour,  as  to  the  gods: 
where  kindred  are  not  allowed  to  many,  not  omy  to 
the  fourth,  but  to  any  remoter  degree  of  nSmty*. 
where  the  diildren  are  kept  four  years  at  nurse,  and 
often  twelve;  where  it  is  also  accounted  mortal  to 

EVe  the  infi^ts  the  breast  on  the  first  day  after  it  is 
>m :  v^ere  the  correction  of  the  male  children  is 
the  peculiar  province  of  the  fitthers,  and  that  of  the 
females  the  sole  prerogative  of  the  mothers,  the 

«  Herod. lib. W. 317.    Nicot  t^ULp.S2« 


11^    .  Of  CUSTOM  ANO  LAW.  > 

puniBhrnent  ^being  to  suspend  them  by  the  heets  hr 
the  smoke.  In  some  places  they  actually  circumcise 
the  women,  Vnd  eit  aM  sorts  of  herbs,  without 
scrupling  any  but  such  bs  hav^  a  bad  smell.  In 
soihe,  aff  places  are  open'i  and  Aeir  finest  houses  with 
the  richest  furniture;  are  without  doors,  windows,  or 
chests,  the  punishment  inflicted  c»i  thieves  bemg 
double  to  ^nat  it  is  elsewere.  In  some  places  they 
crack  l$ce  with  their  teeth  like  monkeys,  and  abhor 
killiuj^  theni  with  th6}r  nails.  Itt  some  places  they 
never  cut  their  hair,  nor  psire  Uieir  nails;  and  in 
others  they  park  those  of  the  rig:hC  hand  oidy,  letting 
those  of  thie  left  grow  fi>r  ornament  i  «id  suiffer  the 
hair  on  the  right  side  to  grow  as  long  as  it  will, 
while  diey  keep  the  othdp  side  shlEtved  ;*  and  in  the 
neighbourhig  pr6vii^ces  some  let  their  hair  grow 
long  before,  as  others  do  that  behind,  and  shave  the 
rest  close.  In  soirte  places  thfe  parents  let  out  their 
children,  and  husbahds  their  wives,  to  their  guests  for 
hire.  Others  there  are,  where  men  may  get  their 
own  mothers  with  child,  and  ftttherft  make  use  of  their 
own  daughters^,  or  of  their  sons,  without  aity  scandal 
or  oflfenee.  In  others  they  interchangeably  lend 
,  their  children  to  one  another  at  their  festivals!;  with^ 
out  any  consideration  bf'  proximity  of  blood.  In 
<Mie  place  men  feed  upon  human  flesh ;  in  another, 
it  is  reckoned  a  charitable  office  for  a  man  to  kill  iiis 
father  at  a  certain  age;t  and  els&i\4)ere  the  fathers 
appoint  the  children,  whilst  yet  in  their  mother's 
womb,  some  to  be  preserved,  and  carefially  brought 
up,  and  others  to  be  abandoned;  an^  killed.'  EJse-. 
where  the  old  husbands  lend  their  wives'  to  young 
men )  and  in  other  phtces  they  are  in  common  witlw 
out  ofieik^e;  nay,  there  is  a  country  where  the 
women  wear,  as  a  mark  of  honour,  as  manyfiingecl 
tassals  to  their  gowns  as  they  have  enjoyed  meu.t 
Moreover^  ha^  not  custom  made  a  republic  of  wo» 

♦  Herodot  lib.  hr.  p.  324. 

t  Scxtus  Empyricusji  P^Trh.  Hypot.  lib.  Hi.  cap.  24,  p.  153. 

X  Herodot.  Itkiv.p.  319. 


09  CUSTOM  AK0LAW«*  llS: 

tneif,  separately  by  theit^elves  ?  Has  it  not  pai  ahm  * 
into  their  hand^?  made  them  to  raise  araries,  «Qd 
%ht  batdes  ?  md  does  it  not^  by  its  single  peoept, 
instruct  thc^  most  ignorant  vu^ar  in  things  which  all 
the  philosophy  in  -rae  wwld  could-nerer  beat  into  the 
heads  of  the  wisest  inehf*  ^For  we  ioiow  ^itire  na^ 
tions,    where  deal^  was  not   only  despised,    but 
h6tfrt% . welcomed ;  where  childrcaai  of  seven  years:         ^  • 
oki  sumred  theiDMelves  even  to  be  wh^pedt^dea;^ 
without  changing  their  countenance ?t  where  riches* 
were  held  in  su<lfc  contempt,  that  the  meanest  sub-* 
ject  would  ^not  have  deigned^to  sto^  to  take  up  a 
^urse  of  crown  ptecas*    And  .wie  kncyw  countries/ 
vety  finitful  in  all  maimer,  of  provisions,  where  the ,     .    •  > 
mosi  common  *  diet,,  and  yet  wlat  they  .are  most 
pleased  with,  was  only  bread,  cresses,  and  wtier4 
Was  it  not  custom  also  that  worked  tlut.  xnirade  in 
Chios,  ^^t  in  700  years  it  was  never  remembered, 
that  dther  maid  or  wife  dki  any  thing  to  stain  their 
honoar^§    To  condnde,  thae  is  nothings  in  my. 
pinion,  which  jcuston  does  not^  or  is  not  capable  ^ 
doing;   and   therefore   Pindar  justly  caUs  it,  the. 
''  Qoeen  and  the  £m{»ess  of  the  World.|i"    He  that 
was  i  reproved  for  beatiw  his  &ther  made  anaw&» 
that  it  was  the  custom  or  has  fiunily^  that  hi9  &ther 
had  in  iike  manner  beaten  his  grand-father ;  hi&grandt 
Either,  his  greal^grand-fether ;  and,  then  pointing  to 
him,  this  son  or  mme  will,  beat  me  also,  when  he 
Gome»  to  my  age,    And.  the  Either,  whom  the  son 
djrag|ged>  along  the  street;  bid  him  to  stop. at  a  ceiw 
tain  door,  becmnse  he  himself,  had  draped  his  &ther 
no  fiirther,  that  beings  the  utmost  limit  of  die.here* 
ditmry  insofenc^  with  whi^  the  sons  used  to  treat 

*  ThiB  Thracians,  Valer.  Mtfximus,  lib,  ii.  ch.  6,  sect;  12, 

f  At  Lecedaraxm. 
*.   X  In  FeaitLf  m  die.  veign  of  Cyrus,  Xeoophop*^  Cyroiwedia,  Jib*  L 
cap.  8.  and  IL    Oxford  edit^l703.  .  . 

9  I^utarchy  in  his  Treatise  oTtlieTiiiuoiu  Behaviour  of  Woinen, 
in  the  article  of  those  of  Chios. 

g  Herodotus,  lib.  iii.  p.  20a 


1  jRX  OF  CUSTOM  AXD  UM. 

iHtkt  fathecs  in  their  hdafy*    It  k  n  imich  from  ci» 
torn,  says  Aratotie^  as  fron  isfinni^^  thatwDmai 
tear  ihetr  faair^  Ixte  tkeir  natb,  cat  coals  aod  ch«lk$ 
and  mncfa  more  from  cuslam  tkan  natare^  that  men 
ashttso  tiiemMlvca  with  one  another. 
Tke  of?Kiii     The  lamrs  of  oonseiencey  ifdUeh  wn  pretend  to  bo 
^c^^b!^!!*  destined  from  aatore,  pracoed  from  custom  i  every 
•ace.       nma  havings  an  intcaptiiil  veneration  for  the  opInkNii 
and  atManem  approvRed  and  received  amoiq^t  his 
oouhtrymeu^  cannot  depart  from  them  without  re* 
liiCtanoe»  nor  adhere  to  them^  without  approbation. 
HnwiMpe.     When  tim  people  of  Crete,,  in  times  past,  had  a 
j^^J'^^msnd  to  curse  aa^  one,  thev  prajed  the  gods  to  en«> 
«|*<«>^     gB9B  them  in  some  e^  hMstt    But  the  prtncipil 
eroct  of  the  pownr  of  custom,  is  to  seiae  and  ea* 
tangle  us  in  suqh  a  manner,  that  it  is  hardly  in  our 
power  to  disengage  oursdves  from  its  ^rqpe,  or  so  to 
recover  ourselves,  as  to  reason  and  discourse  upon 
what  it  eii|oim«  Tosa^thetrudi,  because  we  sudik 
in  with  our  mother's  milk,  and  the  free  of  the  worid 
ilreseats  itself  in  this  posture  to  our  first  sight,  it 
aeems  as  if  we  were  bom  upon  condition  of  punRung 
ijimi  very  course^  and  the  ooafunon  frmcies  that  lire 
find  in  repute  everywhere  round  us,  atid  which  wo 
imbibe  in  our  innncy,  appeaa  to  be  genuine  and 
natural.    From  beace  it  appears,  that  whatever  does 
not  torn  on  the  hinge  of  custom,  is  thought  to  be  oflF 
of  the  Innffes  of  reuon,  thof^;h,  God  knows,  ho«t 
nttfeasonmy  fi>r  the  most  part    If,  as  we,  who  atady 
eurselvea,  have  learned  to  do,  every  one  who  hears  a 
just  sentence,  would  immediateiy  ooosider  how  it 
may  any  way  a£fect  himself^  every  one  woidd  find, 
tiiat  it  wns  not  so  much  a  ^qod  Si^ng,  as  a  severe 
lash  to  the  ordinary  stupidity  of  ms  own  iudgment. 
Biit  men  receive  the  admonition  pf  truth,  and  its 
precepts,  as  addressed  to  the  vulgar  Only,  and  never 
to  themselves ;  and  instead  of  applying  them  to  their 
own  behaviour,  every  one  is  content  with  commit* 

^  Vider.  Maxim.  lib«  viL  in  extsniii^  lect  15.^ 


OW  CQSTOM  AVD  LAW«  ISl 

ting  them  to  memnry^  very  absurdly  and  unprofit* 
ably.    Return  we  ifem  tathe  tyranny  of  custom. 

Feople that  h«re been  bred  up  to  liber^,  and  to  be  ETeryt». 
their  own  masters,  look  upon  every  other  system  of  ||^^|^|[i; 
government  to  be  monstrous,  and  ocmtrary  to  nature,  that  sort  of 
%iose  who  are  inured  to  monarchy  do  the  same  j  and  |^7il^idi 
though  fortime  may  give  them  ever  so  favduirable  itbiMcdtii. 
an  opportunity  of  Altering  it,  even  when  they  have 
with  the  greatest  difficulty  disengaged  themselves 
£roiir  the  troublesome  sway  of  one  master,  th^  hasten 
with  like  difficulties  to  place  another  in  his  room,  so 
Ibnd  are  <bey  of  the  sufc^ectian  they  have  been  ac- 
customed to. 

It  is  owing  to  custom,  that  every  one  is  pleased  wb^r  cvt^r 
with  the  spot  in  whi<3i  he  was  slanted  by  nature ;  ^^^ 
vid  the  Highlanders  of  Scotlana*  pant  no  more  for  witbUiM* 
the  fine  air  of  Touraine,  than  the  Scythians  do  for  ll!^'^'^ 
the  delightful  fields  of  Thessaly. 

Darius  asking  the  Greeks  what  they  would  take  ApropoMi 
to  follow  the  custom  of  th^  Indians,!  in  eating  the  ^^"^ 
bodies  of  their  deceased  parents  ?  (for  diat  was  their  andGreeu, 
-jpractiee,  as  believing  they  could  not  nve  them  a^"^ 
petter  sepulture  than  in  their  own  bodies)  they  made 
answer,  that  thev  would  not  do  it  for  any  thing  in 
thb  world:  but  naving  also  tried  to  persuade  the 
Indians  to  leave  off  their  custom,  and  to  bum  the 
bodies  of  their  parents,  after  the  manner  of  the 
Gxedcs,  they  conceived  a^till  greater  horror  at  the 
idea.    Every  one  does  the  same ;  for  custom  veils 
the  true  aspect  of  things  from  our  eyes : 

Ntt  ai$o  magmtm^  nee  iem  miralite  qukquam 
Ffmapioymidwm  mimmU  mmtrier  4>fnnes 
Paulaiim.l 

*  These  are  an  ignorant  people,  who  are  said  to  live  only  upon 
rapfaie. '  They  who  know  nothing  of  the  country,  need  oiJy  tead 
Froisaart,  toC  ii«  cap.  160, 169,  and  174^  and  they  will  percehre  why 
Montaigi|9  aets  Touraine  in  iqiiKMition  to  thenu 

t  Herodotuf,  lib.  iii.p.  200.  Aa  to  the  custom  of  the  Indiana 
eating  the  bodies  of  their  dead  parents,  see  Sextus  Empyricus  P^rrlu 
Hypot.  lib.  iiL  cap.  24,  p.  15Z. 

X  Lttcret.  lib*  Ik  TSr.  10S7* 


H3  OP  CUSTOM  AND  LAW. 

Nothing  at  Ant  m  great^or  strange  tppeats. 
But  grows  fan^jUjMtf  in  micc^ilg  yean 

Taking  upon  me  once  to  justify  an  observation 
which  was  received  with  absolute  authority  round  us 
for  a  great  many  leagues,  and  being  tiot  content,  as 
people  commonly  are,  to  establish  it  6nly  by  force  of 
laws  and  examples ;  biit  inauiring  stiH  forther  into 
its  origin,  I  perceived  the?  roundatidn  so  weak,  that 
I,  who  strove  to  confirm  it  in  ortiers,  was  very  near 
being  dissatisfied  with  it- myself.  It  is  by  this  recipe 
that  Plato*  utidertafces  to  eradicate  the  unnatural 
'  arid  preposterous  anfeurs  of  his  time,  which  he*  es-' 
teems  the  sovereign  and  principiii  remedy,  viz.  That 
flie  public  opinion  condemns  them ;  that  the  poets, 
aiid  all  other  writers, '  relate"  sad  stories  of  them.  A 
fecipe,  by  the  virtue  of  whi(*h  the  most  beautifuf 
daughters  no  .longer  aSlure  their  father's  lusts,  nor 
brothers  of  the  finest  shape  the-desire  of  their  sisters; 
the  very  fables  of  Thyestes,  CEdipus,  and  M acareus^ 
having  with  the  harmony  of  their  song  infused  this 
wholesofne  belief  into  the  tender  brains  of  infants; 
Chastity  is  in  truth  an  amiable  virtue,  the  utility  of 
which  is  sufRciently  known;  but  to  manage  and  set 
it  off  according  to  nature^  is  as  difficult,  as  it  is  easy 
to  do  it  accoitiing  to  custom,  laws,  arid  precepts. 
The  scrutiny  into  the  fundameiital  and  universal 
reasons  is  difficult;  and* our  masters,  by  skimming 
lightly  over  them,  or  riot  daring  so  much  as  to  grope 
for  them,  precipitate  themselves  at  first  daSh  into  uie 
privilege  of^  custom,  in  which  they  pride,  themselves 
and  triumph.  They  who  will' not  sufffer  themselves 
to  be  drawn  from  this  original,  commit  an  error  still 
greater,  and  submit  themselves  to  wild  opinions; 
witness  Chrysippus,t  who,  in  so  many  of  his  writings, 
has  shown  the  ridiculous  light  in  which  he  looked 
upon  incestuous  conjunctions  of  what  nature  so- 
ever. . 

•  De  LegibuRy  lib.  viii.  p.  646.  . 

f  Sextufi  EmpyricuSy  Pjn*h.  Hypot.  lib.  i.  cap.  14,  p.  31.  . 


OF  CUSTOM  Am)  LAW.*  IStS 

"Whoever  would  disengage  iiimself  £rom  tMs  ^o^'cuiMitht 
lent  prgudice  rf  enstom,  wiH  find  mstiy  things  re-^J^jf^^JJ" 
ceived  witboot  scniffle,  wiAdK  have  no  real.  fiiunda^AMuiy 
tion  In  nature ;  but  when  this. mask  is  taken  ofl^  AndjJ^SS^ 
things  referred  to  die  decision  of  truth  and  reasonyio  the 
he  will  find  his  jnclgment,  as  it  were,  quite'  over- ''*'**■ 
thrown,  and  yet  restored  to  a  state  much  more  sure.* 
For  example,  I  would  then  ask  him,  what  can  be' 
more  strange  than  to  see  people  obliged  to  obey  laws: 
which  they  never  miderstood,  and  to  be  bound  inr 
iedl  their  domestic  affiurs,  marriaces^  grants,  wiUa^ 
sales,  and  purchases,  to  rules  which  they: cannot  poa-: 
sibl^  know,  being  neither  written  nor>  published  in 
their  own  language,  and  of  which  they  must  neees* 
sarily  pay  for  the  interpretaticm  and  uses ;  not  ac 
cording  to  the  ingenious  sentiment  of  Socrates,  .who 
advised  his  king  to  make  the  traffic  and  negotiation 
of  his  subjects  free  and  lucrative  to  them,  and  to 
charge  their  quarrels  and  debates  with  heavy  taxes.; 
but  by  a  monstrous  opinion  to  make  a  traffic  of  rea- . 
son  itself,  and  to  make  the  laws .  as  <;urFent  as  mer* 
chandise.    I  think  mj^elf  obliged  to  fortune  that 
(as  our  historians  say)  it  was  a  Gascon  gentleman^  a 
countryman  of  mine,  that  was  the  first  that  opposed 
Charlemagne,  when  he  attempted  to  impose  Latin 
and  imperial  laws  on  us. 

What  sight  can  there  be  more  savage,  than  to  seeTHe  iocwk 
a  nation,^  where  custom  has  made  it  kwftil  to  wU^^^jJ^^ 
the  office  of  a  judge,  and  to  buy  sentences  with  ready  twrow  «- 
money,  and  where  justice  is  legally  denied  to  the  i^jtli^ 
party  who  has  not  wherewithal  to  pay  for  it;  and 
where  this  merchandise  is  in  so  great  credit^  as  to 
form  a  fourth  estate  in  the  government,   viz.  of 
lawyers,  to  be  added  to  the  three  ancient  ones  <^the 
church,  the  nobility,  imd  the  people;  which  fourth 
estate,  having  the  lawis  in  their  hands,  and  the  sove- 
reign power  over  men^s  lives  and  fortunes,  forms  la 

*  France,  where  this  disorder  lias  even  mcresaed  since  Monta^e^ 
ttme,  8ndwtiereicisliketolfl0taslongasiheni«narGh]ritiietl^ 


184  or  CUSTOM  AND  LAW« 

body  sejmmte  fiom  the  nobility.  From  hencfe  it 
oomes  to  pass,  that  there  are  double  laws,  tl^ae  of 
honour,  and  those  of  justioe,  in  nianv  tlnqgs  directly 
opposite  to  one  another;  the  nobtes  as  rigoronsly 
condemning  a  lie  su&red,  as  the  others  do  a  1&&  re« 
venged.  By  the  martial  law  of  arms,  he  who  puts 
up  an  afiront,  shall  be  denaded  fit>m  all  nobiliiy  and 
honour;  and  by  the  civil  law,  he  who  takes  revenge, 
in<iurs  a  capital  punidunent  He  who  has  recourse 
to  the  laws  to  obtain  satiafiusdoa  for  an  injury  done 
to  his  honour,  diamces  himself}  and  he  who  does 
not,  is  punished  oy  the  laws:  and  of  these  two 
branches,  so  different,  yet  bodi  of  them  reftniqgto 
one  head,  those  have  the  care  of  peace,  these  of 
war}  those  the  profit,  these  the  honour}  those  wis- 
dom, these  virtue;  those  the  privilege  of  speech, 
.  these  of  action}  those  justice,  these  valour;  those 
reason,  these  force;  those  the  long  robe,  these  the 
short  one. 
Thefsutti.  As  for  matters  of  indiffisrence,  such 'as  apparel, 
^1^1^  where  is  the  person  who  is  for  reducing  it  to  its  true  * 
d'n*.  use,  which  is  the  service  and  convenience  of  the 
body,  upon  which  its  original  grace  and  decency  de«; 

Eend«    Among  the  most  whimsical  that  I  think  can  \ 
e  invented,  I  will  menticm  our  square  caps,  that 
long  tail  of  tvdsted  velvet  which  hangs  down  firoin 
our  women's  heads  with  its  whimsical  trinkets,  and 
that  idle  bauUe  of  a  .model  of  a  member,  we  cannot 
in  modesty  so  much  as  mention,  and  which,  never« 
theless,  we  make  public  parade  with. 
Aston.      These  considerations,  however,  will  not  prevail 
IveT^un  .upon  any  man  of  understanding  to  decline  the  com*. 
of  good     mon  mode :  though  I  cannot  help  thinking,  that  all 
7J^^  singular  and  far*fetched  fiishions  are  rather  marlu  of 
tihh'^'^  folly  and  vain  affectation,  than  of  right  reason ;  and 
o^  couD-^l^^^  ^^  ^^  ^^^^^^  ought  in  his  own  mind  to  retire 

from  the  crowd,  and  tliere  keqp  his  soul  at  liberty, 
and  in  vigour  to  judge  freely  or  things,  while  never- 
theless, as  to  outward  appearance,  hie  ought  entiirely 
to  coidS^rm  to  the  fiishions  and  forms  of  the  time. 


Of  CUSTOM  Asm  LAWi>  1S5 

Public  society  has  nothing  to  do  vntk  our  private 
opinions;  but  as  £)r  the  rest,  namely,  our  actions, 
our  labour,  oar  Hves,  and  fortunes,  they  must  be 
bent  and  devoted  to  tbe  public  service,  and  to  tb^ 
i»immon  opinions ;  as  the  |;reat  and  good  Socrates 
reused  to  save  his  life  b^  disobedience  to  tiie  magis« 
tiate,  tiiou^  a  very  uigust  and  wicked  one:  for  it 
is  the  rule  of  rules,  and  the  general  law  of  all  laws, 
that  every  person  should  observe  those  of  the  place 
where  he  is : 


^w-'-'^*'' 


Proceed  we  now  to  another  topic.    It  is  a  matter  whctiMr  a 
of  great  doubt  whether  there  is  more  profit  than^Ji^l^^* 
harm  in  ehangins  a  law  that  has.  been  once  received,  ^^  <>»< 
be  it  what  it  will;  forasmuch  as  a  system  of  govern*' ^^H^'SSoi 
ment  is  like  to  a  building  of  divers  parts,  so  jcnned  ^yj^ 
together,  that  it  is  impossiUe  to  stir  or  shake  any  of^"***^ 
them  without  affecting  the  rest    The  legislator  of 
the  Thurians  made  an  order,t  that  whoever  offered 
to  abolish  any  of  the  old  laws,  or  to  establish  a  new 
one,  should  come  before  the  people  with  a  halter 
about  his  neck,  to  the  end  that,  if  the  innovation 
was  not  unanimously  approved,  he  should  be  stran« 
gled  on  the  spot.    And  that  of  Lacedasmon,):  made 
it  tht  business  of  his  life  to  get  a  fidthful  promise 
fitrni  his  citizens,  that  th^  would  not  infiii^  any 
of  his  ordinances.    The  Epfaorus,^  who  so  rudely 
cut  the  two  strings  which  Phrvnis  had  added  to 
music,  never  stood  to  examine  whether  that  addition 
made  a  better  harmony;  it  was  enough  for  him  to 
condemn  tiie  invention,  because  it  was  an  alteratio4 
of  ihe  old  composition :  which  also  is  the  meaning 
of  Ihte  old  rusty  sword  of  justice  carried  before  the 
magistracy  of  MarseiUes.    For  my  part,  I  have  an 

•  ta  fixcetptioOnitianu,  p.  S97« 
t  Cliatondai,mDk>don]iof  Sicfly»lib.zii.  C.4. 
%  Lvcurgui.    See  his  Life  bv  Plutarch,  ch.  21. 
9  Plutarch,  in  his  Notable  Sayings  of  the  Lacedflemonians,  calk 
thiiEphoms,  Emerepea  V|^, Max. lib; iL ciqp. 6^ sect ?• 


1--      / 


ISBS  or  cesnteu  AtrD  tAw. 

aversion  to  novelty  of  whaticomplexion  soever^  atul 
have  reason,  having  be  to  an  aye-witness  of  its  mifrr 
cSiievouff  comequeaces.  .  13ie  innovalRm.which  has 
fcrsomany  years  oppressed  tfaiS)  kingdom  (France) 
has  not  indeed  directly  done  all  the  mischief  it  has^ 
sufiei^d^  but  it  may  be  said,  vrith  some  colour  of 
reason^  that  it  has  acddentaUj  finnentbd  and, pro- 
duced, all  the  wHa  and  distresses  that  are  since 
eontinned: 

Heu  !  patior  telU  vulnera  facta  meis.^  i.  c. 

Alas!  the  wounds hy  which  I  srosrty 
My  own  sharp  weapons  did  impart* 

(  They  who. give  a  shock  to  a  states  are  ready  to  be. 
/  -  */  ^the  first  who  are  swallowed  up  in  its  ruin.  The  fruits 
of  a  public  commotion  are  seldom  eiyojred  by  the 
•  ^  person  .who  fomented  it*  H^  only  custurba  the 
water  ior.  others  to  catch  the  fish.  The  unity  and 
contexture  of  inonarchy^  in  this  great  structure, 
having  been  remarkably  broken  and  dissolved  in  ita 
old  age,  by  this  innovation,  has  made  way  for  the  en- 
trance of  the  like  injuries.  The  royal  miyesty  does 
not  easily  sink  from  the  summit  to  the  middle,  but 
tumbles  headlong  from  the  middle  to  the  foundation. 
But  if  the  inventors  do  the  most  mischief,  the  imita^ 
tors  are  the  more  crin^iipal  to  follow  examples,  of 
which  they  have  f^lt  the  evil :  and  if  there  be  any 
degree  of  horror,  even  in  doin^  ill,  the  latter  owe  to 
the  former  the  glory  of  inventing,  and  the  courage 
of  making  the  first  effort^  New  disorders  of  all 
kinds  derive  ideas  and  precedents  for  disturbing  our 
government  from  this  original  and  plentiful  source. 
We  read  in  oi^r  very  laws  made  for  the  remedy  of 
this  orimitive  evil,  the  first  essays  of  bad  enterprises 
of  ail  kinds,  and  the  excuse  made  for  them.  And 
what  Thucydides  says  of  the  civil  wars  in  his  tilne» 
is  applicable  to  us,  that,  to  palliate  public  vices,,  their 
true  names  are  sophisticated  and  soflened  by  new 

*  Ovid,  in  Epist.  of  Fhillis  to  Demophoon,  ver.  iS. 


M  COSf  OH  Aim  LAW/  K7 

oitts,  which  are  not  so*  harsh.  It  is  intended,  hdw*' 
ever;  to  r^Mrm  our  consciences  and  opinions.  Ha^ 
netta  ormtw  ^t  :*  i*  e.  *^  It  is  a  fdaiisible  speech ;" 
but  the  best  plea  for  innovation  is  very  dangerous! 
and,  to  speak  my  thoughts  with  freedom,  Jt:seenis  tor 
me  fo  b^'graatrseif-leve'tand  presuinption  in  a  man, 
to  set  such  a  vtalpe  upon  his  own.  c^inions,  that  the 
public  peace  nniBt  absolutely  be.destroyed  to  establish 
them,  and  a  multitude  of  inevitable  evils  introduced 
into  his :  own  country,  together  with  so^  dreadful  a 
corruption  of  manners  as  a  civil  war,  and  the  charges^ 
on  the  stat^  in  a  matter  of  such  consequence,  always 
brings:init^  train.  Is  it  not  bad  management  to  set 
up  so>many  certain  and  palpable  vices  against  errors 
that  are  doubtful  and  disputable?  Are  there  any 
views  worse  than  these  committed  against  a  man's 
own  conscience,  and  the  natural  light  of  his  own 
reason  ?  *Tbe  senate,  upon  its  dispute  with.the  people 
concerning  the  administration  of  their  religion,  pre- 
sumed to  make  use  of  this  evasive  argument,t  ^i/ 
J>eoi  id  magisquam  ad  se  pertinere ;  ipsos  visuras^ 
ne  sacra  sua  poiiudniur :.  i.  e.  ^^  That  this  affiiir  was 
f^  not  SO'  much  their  concern  as  that  of  the  gods^ 
^  who  would  themsdves  take  care  that  their  saesed 
^^  mysteries  were  not  polluted }"  aiwotdtng  to  the 
article  which  the  orade  returned  td  those  of  Delphos,' 
who,  in  the  Median  war,  dreadhig  an  invasion  from 
the  Persians^ :  enquired:  of  Apollo  what  they  should 
do  with  the  sacral  treasure  of  his  temple,  whether 
they  should  hide  it,' or  carry  it  elsewhere.  To  which 
the  God  returned  for  answer,  "  That  they  should 
^^  not  remove  any  thing,'  but  only  take  care  of  them- 
*^  sreives,  forasmuch  ad  he  was  sufficient  to  take  care 
^  of  his  own  properly."*    The  Christian  religion 

*  Terence,  Andr.  act  1,  sc.  1,  vcr.  104-. 

f  '  Tit  LiY.  lib.  X,  ch.  6.    The  application  which  Montaigne  her^ 
inam,  of  thete  words  of  Livy,  agrees  by  no  means  with  the  con- 
atniction  they  bear  in  that  historian,  as  all  who  win  be  at  the  trouble 
to  coastdt  him  may  perceiye. 
^  %  Herodot.  lib.  viiL  p.  589,540. 


128  iur  CUSTOM  AVOIAWW; 

bean  idl  tbe  marks  of  jiiaticie  and  utfltty  in  an  ex* 
treme  degree,  but  ncme  snore  maai&st  than  the 
strict  .recommendation  of  obedience  to  magiitrat«, 
and  the  maintenance  of  the  police.  What  a  mar* 
velloiis  instance  of  this  has  the  lAvine  Wisdom  left  iis» 
who,  in  establishing  the  salvation  of  mankindv  andin 
conductipg  this  his  riorious  victwy  over  de»th  and 
sin,  chose  to  do  it  ondjr  in  conformity  to  our  pditical 
govenunent,  and  submitted  bis  prc^gress,  and  the 
conduct  of  so  sublime  and  salutimrous  an  opemtiout 
to  the  blindness  and  injustice  of  our  observations 
and  customs;  sufl^ng  the  innocent  Uood  of  so 
many  of  bis  chosen  &vourites  to  be  shed^  and  bear« 
ing  with  the  loas  of  such  a  number  of  yean>  to  tbe 
maturing  of  this  inestimable  fruit?  There  is  a  wide 
difference  between  the  case  of  one  who  coa»]ies  with 
the  forms  and  laws  of  his  country,  and  «  another 
that  undertakes  to  regukte  and  dumge  thekiL  The 
first  pleads  in  hia  excuse  simplicity,  obedience,  and 
example,  so  that  whatever  he  does,  it  cannot  be  im» 
puted  to  malice,  but  at  the  worst  to  misfortune* 
Quis  est  enint^  quern  nan  maveBt  clmissinns  wmmmen^ 
tis  teitata^  eansignataque  amtifuiiaif^  i.  e.  *^  Who  is 
^  there  that  is  not  toudied  with  respect  for  antiquity, 
««  sealed  and  confirmed  by  the  most  illustrious  testi«> 
^^  monies  ?''  Besides  what  Isocrates  says,  tiiat  de& 
dency  is  more  a  sharer  in  moderaticm  tlnn  exceasf 
the  last  is  a  track  much  more  rugged  :t  for  he  who 
busies  himself  to  choose  and  alter,u8urps  the  authority 
of  judging,  and  must  take  it  upon  hiniself  to  discover 

*  Cicevo  At  Divinadoae,  Kb*  i.  cL  40. 

t  AU  that  Mows  from  the  words,  <«he  who  inttiet  hioMir/*  ta 
ihe  passage  from  Cicero  indusiTdyt  endiog  tboSp  **  not  by  Zen^ 
**  CleantheSy  nor  Chr3r8ippu8,*'  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  folio  edition 
by  Abel  Angelier,  printed  at  Paris  in  1595,  three  years  after  Uie 
death  of  our  author;  nor  in  another  folio  edition  printed  at  Fkris,  bj 
Alitehael  Bhigeant,  in  164a  I  leave  it  to  the  reader  to  jndge^  wbe- 
tber  this  addition  be  Montaigne's  or  not;  but  I  tbmufat  mjuU 
oblieed  to  insert  it  in  this  edition,  because  I  npt  only  fial[i^  in  the 
edition  printed  at  Paris  since  1640,  but  in  one  Wint^  at  Layde^ 
in  1689. 


OP  CtJSfOM  AKt>  t.AW«  129 

the  defect  of  what  he  is  fbr  removing,  and  the  be- 
nefit of  what  he  is  about  to  introduce.    This  consi- 
deration, however  vulgar,  is  that  which  fixed  me  in 
my  seat,  and  kept  the  rein  Upon  even  the  rashest 
part  of  my  youtlp,  so  as  not  to  burden  my  shoulders 
with  so  dead  a  weight,  as  to  render  myself  responsi- 
ble for  a  scieniceof  such  importance,  and  to  presume 
in  that  state  to.  do  what  in  iny  more  mature  judg- 
ment I  durst  not  attempt  in  the  most  easy  thing  I  had 
ever  learned,  and  wherein  the  rashness  of  judging 
does  no  harm,  it  seeming  to  me  very  unjust  to  go 
about  to  subject  public  and  established  customs  and 
institutions  to  the.  weakness  and  instability  of  private 
&&cy  (for  private  reason  has  only  a  private  jurisdic- 
tion;, and  to  make  that  encroachment  upon  divine 
laws,  which  no  government  woidd  sufier  upon  the 
civil  laws ;  with  which  the  human  reason  has  much 
more  concern. than  with  the  former;  yet  are  they 
sovereignly  judged  by  their  own  proper  judges ;  and 
the  utmost  sufficiency  serves  only  to  explain  and  ex- 
tend the  custom  derived  from  it^  and  not  to  divert, 
nor  make  any  innovation  in  it.    If  sometimes  the 
divine  Providence  has  suspended  the  rules  to  which 
it  has  necessarily  restrained  us,  it  is  not  to  give  us  a 
dispensation  from  them*    These  are  only  strokes  of 
the  divine  hand,  whidi  we  must  not  imitate,  but  ad- 
mire^  and  extraordinary  examples  that  purposely  and 
particularly  prove  the  kind  of  miracles   which  it 
offers  us  for  a  manifestation  of  its  almighty  dower, 
above  our  rules  and  capacity,  which  it  were  folly  and 
impiety  to  attempt  to  imitate,  and  which  we  ought 
not  to  follow,  but  to  contemplate  with  astonishment ; 
they  being  acts  peculiar  to  the  essence  of  him  by 
whom  they  are  performed,*  and  not  personal  to  us. 
Gotta  declares  very  opportunely,  when  matters  of  re- 
ligion are  the  subject,  1  hearken  to  T.  Coruncanus, 
P.  Scipio,  P.  Scaevola,  the  high  priests ;  but  I  give 
no  ear  to  Zeno,  Cleanthes,  or  Ch^sippus.*    In  our 

*  Cic.  de  Natura  Dflonun,  lU^  iii.  cap.  3. 
VOL,  I.  K 


180  Ol^  CUSTOM  AK0  tAVr. 

present  quarrel^  where  there  are  a  hundred  articles 
to  he  .struck  out  and  put  in,  articles  that  are  also  of 
very  ^reat  importance,  God  knows,  Kow  many  there 
are  ymo  can  boast  of  their  having  nicely  understood 
the  grounds  and  reasons  of  both  tha  parties.     It  is  a 
number,  if  it  amounts  to  a  number,  that  would  not 
be  very  able  to  disturb  us.    But  what  becomes  of  all 
the  rest  of  the  "posse  ?  Under  what  ensigns  do  they 
rank  ?  The  case  is  the  same  with  them  as  with  other . 
weak  and  ill-applied  medicines,  whereby  the  humours 
they  are  designed  to  purge  off,  are  only  fermented^ 
exasperated,  and  inflamed  ii\  the  conflict,  and  left 
still  behind.    The  medicine  was  too  weak  to  purge 
us,  but  strong  enough  to  weaken  us,  so  that  we  can- 
not get  lid  of  it,  and  receive  no  eflfect  from  its  opera- 
tion, but  inward  pains  of  long  duration. 
incunof      So  it  is,  nevcrtfidess,  that  fortune,  say  what  we 
TCcessity    will,   prcscnts  us  sometimes    with  a    neceasity  so 
^^  °'J  , ,  urgent,  that  it  is  requisite  the  laws  should  ghre  place 
give  way   to  it :  aud  whcrc  opposition  is  made  to  the  increase 
^MionT  ^^  *^  innovation  which  intrudes  itself  by  violence, 
'  for  a  man  to  keep  himself  in  all  places  and  thinm 
within  bounds  and  rules  against  these  who  are  at  fml 
liberty  to  do  what  they  list,  and  to  whom  all  things 
are  lawful  that  may  serve  to  advance  their  design, 
and  who  have  ho  other  law  nor  rule  but  to  pursue 
their  own  advantage,  is  a  dangerous  obligation  «id 
inequality: 

AtdUum  nocendi  perfido  preBstai  Jtdes.^ 
Tlic  naked  truth  does  her  fair  breast  disarm. 
And  gives  to  treacherj  a  power  to  harm. 

Forasmuch  as  the  ordinary  discipline  of  a  healthful 
.  state  does  not  provide  against  these  extraordinary 
accidents,  it  presupposes  a  body  that  supports  itsefr 
in  its  principal  members  and  oflBcers,  and  a  common 
'consent  to  its  obedience  and  observation.  To  pro- 
ceed, according  to  law,  is  a  cold  and  constrained 
work,  and  not  fit  to  make  head  against  a  licentious 

*  S«ae€.  in  CEdip.  a^t  m.  ver.  698. 


bit  CtJSTOM  A2n>  lAWi  tBl 

iind  unbridled  proceeding.  Those  greac  personages, 
Odtavius  and  Cato;  in  the  two  divil  wars  of  Syllaand 
Caesar,  are  to  this  day  reproached,  that  they  chose  to 
let  their  country  suffer  the  last  extremities,  rather  than 
to  relieve  it  at  the  expense  of  its  laws^  or  ta  make 
any  stir.  For,  in  truth,  ill  these  last  necessities^ 
wherein  there  is  no  remedy,  it  would,  perhaps,  be 
more  discreet  to  stoop  and  yield  a  little  to  receive 
the  blow,  than  by  opposing,  without  any  possibility  of 
doing  good,  make  way  for  violence  to  trample  every 
thing  under  foot  i  and  it  were  better  to  make  tlid 
laws  do  what  they  can^  since  they  cannot  do  what 
they  would.  After  this  manner  did  he  who  sus- 
pended them  for  twenty-four  hours ;  and  he  who  for 
once  shifted  a  day  in  the  calendar  ;  and  that  other, 
viz.  AlexsLnder  the  Great,*  who  in  the  month  of  June 
made  a  second  May.  The  Lacedasmdhians  them- 
selves, religious  observers  as  they  were  of  the  laws 
of  their  country,  being  straiteped  by  their  own  law, 
which  prohibited  the  choosing  of  the  samig  man  to 
be  admiral  twice  i  and  on  the  other  hand,  their  af^ 
£iirs  necessarily  requiring  that  Lysander  should  fill 
that  office  again,  they  made  one  Aracus  admiral,  it  ia 
true,  but  withal  Lysander  was  superintendant  of  the 
marine.t  By  the  same  policy,  one  of  their  ambassa^ 
dors  being  sent  to  the  Athenians  to  obtain  the  altera*- 
tion  of  some  decree,  and  Pericles  remonstrating  to 
him  that  it  was  forbid  to  take  away  the  tablet,  or  je^ 
gister  wherein  a  law  had  been  engrossed,  advised  him 
only  to  turn  it  over,  forasmuch  as  this  was  not  pro-^ 
hibited.t  And  Plutarch  commends  Philopa^men, 
that  while  bom  to  command,  he  knew  not  only  how! 
to  command  according  to  the  laws,  but  also  to  over« 
rule  the  laws  themselves,^  when  the  public  neces^ 
3ity  req^uired  it. 

*  See  his  Life  by  Plntarch^  in  dhap.  S  o(  Amyot's  TrUxulation. 
f  Plutarch  in  the  Life  of  Lysander,  cap.  4. 
i  Idem,  in  the  Life  of  Pisriclesv  cap.  18. 
§  In  the  comparison  of  Titus  Quintus  Flaminius  with  Philopflemen^ 
towards  theenui 

k2 


152  DIFFEBENT  EVENTS 

CHAPTER  XXIIL 

Different  Events  from  the  same  Counsel. 

James  AMYOTT,*  great  almoner  of  France, 
gave  me  this  history  one  day,  to  the  honour  of  a 
prince  of  ours  (who,  though  of  foreign  extraction, 
was  ours  in  very  deed),  that  in  the  time  of  our  first 
troubles,  at  the  siege  of  Roan,  that  prince  being  ad- 
vertised hy  the  queen  (mother  to  the  kin^)  of  a  plot 
that  was  formed  against  his  life,  and  being  particu- 
laHy  informed  by  his  letters  who  was  to  be  the  chief 
conductor  of  it,  viz.  a  gentleman  of  Anjou,  or 
Maine,  who  at  that  time  commonly  came  to  the 
prince's  palace  for  the  purpose,  he  did  not  communi- 
cate his  mtelligerice  to  any  person  in  the  whole  world, 
biit  goingV  the  next  day,  to  St.  Catherine's  mount, 
where  was  our  battery  against  Roan  ^which  we  at 
that  time  lai^  siege  to)  attended  by  tne  said  great 
alnioner,  )uid  another  bishop,  he  took  notice  of  this 
very  gentleman,  who  had  been  described  to  him,  and 
sent  for  him.  When  he  came  before  him,  the  prince 
finding  him  pale,  and  trembling  with  the  conscious-^ 
ftess  of  his  guilt,  he  said  to  him,  "  Mr.  — —  you 
**  mistrust,  I  find,  what  I  have  to  say  to  you,  and  your 
<<  very  countenance  shows  it ;  it  is  in  vain  to  think 
•*  of  hiding  any  thing  fi-ora  me,  for  I  am  so  well  in- 
**  formed  of  your  business,  that  you  will  only  make 
**j  bad  worse,  by  an  attempt  to  conceal  it ;  you  very 
**  well  know,  such  a  thing  and  such  a  thing,  whicn 
**  Were  the  links  and  limits  to  the  most  secret  parts 
**  in  the  plot ;  and  therefi)re,  as  you  value  your 
**  life,  do  not  fail  to  confess  the  truth  of  the  whole 
"  design  to  me."  When  the  poor  man  found  he  was 
fVtected  (for  the  whole  affair  had  been  discovered  to 
the  queen  by  one  of  the    accomplices),    he  had 

*  The  celebrated  tranftlator  of  Plutarch. 


FROM  THE  SAME  COUNSEL*  1S3 

Tiothirig  to  do,  but  with  folded  hands  was  going  to 
throw  himself  at  the  feet  of  the  prince  to  iipplore  his 
mercy  and  forgiveness;   but  the  prince  prevented 
him,  and  proceeded  to  ask  him  as  follows :  "  Pray, 
**  did  I  ever  do  any  thing  to  disoblige  you  ?  Have  I, 
•*  from,  any  particular  spite,  offended  any  that  be- 
"  longed  to  you  ?  It  is  not  above  three  weeks  that  I 
**  have  known  you;  what  inducement  could  you  have 
*'  to  aim  at  my  life  ?"  To  this  the  gentleman  an- 
swered, with  a  faltering  voice,  "  That  he  had  no  par.- 
**  ticular  reason  for  it,  but  the  interest  of  the  cause 
"  of  his  party  in  general ;  and  that  he  had  been  per- 
"  suaded  by  some  of  them,  that  it  would  be  a  very 
**  pious  act  to  extirpate  so  powerful  an  enemy  to 
**  their  reli^on  by  any  means  whatsoever/*  "  Well,"  Extmor. 
said  the  pnnce,  "  I  will  now  let  you  see  how  much  i*"*c7of  • 
^^  more  amiable  is  the  religion  I  maintain  than  that  pnnce  to 
"  which  you  profess ;  yours  has  .advised  you  to  mur-  hUdpiStted 
*'  der  me  without  giving  me  a  hearing,  and  without  tokuihim. 


cc 


u 


you  wouia  nave  iullea  me  without  any  reason.  /  / 

Get  you  from  hence  instantly,  and  let  me  see  you 
no  more  here;  and  if  you  are  wise,  choose  honester 
men  to  be  of  your  counsel  in  future  designs." 
The  emperor  Augustus,  being  in  Gaul,  had  cer-  a  pioc  «. 
tain  intelligence  of  a  conspiracy  which  was  formed  ^J^^^^^"- 
against  him  by  Lucius  Cinna,  for  which  he  resolved  wiuch'iw 
to  make  an  example  of  him  ;•  and,  for  that  purpose,  ^^^^ 
summoned  a  council  of  his  friends  to  meet  him  next  wm  ripe 
day ;  but  the  night  preceding  he  was  very  uneasy  in  [fJat***** ' 
his  mind  to  think  t^at  he  was  going  to  put  to  death 
a  young  gentleman  of  a  good  family,   nephew  to 
Pompey  the  Great,  which  made  him  break  out  into 
these  complaints,  "  What !  shall  it  be  said  that  I  live 
^'  in  terror  and  alarm,  and  sufier  my  assassin  to  walk 
^^  abroad  at  bis  full  liberty?    Shall  he  go  unpunished, 

*  See  Seneca,  in  his  Treatiae  of  Clemency^  lib.  i.  cap.  9,  from 
whence  the  whole  Btory  is  here  tran9cribed  verbatim. 


1»4  DIFFERENT  EVENTS 

^  after  having  conspired  against  my  life ;  a  Efe  which 
<*  I  have  hitherto  defended  in  so  many  civil  wars, 
"  and  so  many  battles  both  by  land  and  sea,  and 
^*  after  I   had   establislied  universal  jpeace  in  the 
<*  world  ?    Shall  the  man  be  pardoned  after  he  had 
•*  determined  not  only  to  murder,  but  to  sacrifice 
<*  Bje  ?**    For  the  plot  was  laid  to  kill  him  while  he 
•W3S  assisting  in  some  sacrifice.    After  this  he  re- 
mained for  some  time  sileiit,  but  t^eii  he  began 
again,  in  a  louder  note,  to  exclaim  against  himself^ 
saying,    "  Why  livest  thou,   if  it  be  a  thing  of 
^  8U(m  importance  to   so*  many  people  that  tfcou 
^*  shouldst  die  ?   Will  there  be  no  end  to  tlwr  revenge 
"  and  cruelty?  Is  thy  life  of  so  much  wortn,  that  sq 
**  much  mischief  mpst  be  done  to  preserve  it  T' 
|iu  wiffe       Livia,  his  wife,  perceiving  him  in  this  perplexity, 
>'via|i^-H  Will  you  for  once,**  said  she, '"  be  jwivised  by  a 
^^       ""  woman?    Imitate  the  physicians  who,  when  com^ 
**  mon  remedies  do  no  good,  make  trial  of  the  com 
**  trary.    You  have  not  done  yourself  any  good  hi- 
^*  therto  by  your  severity.'    Lepidus  has  followed  Sa- 
^videnusj    Murena,    Lepidus;    Caepio,    Murenaj 
^  Ignatius,  Caepio.     Begin  now  and  try  how  lenity 
f^  and  clemency  will  succeed.     Ginna  is  found  guilty, 
**  palrdon  him  -,  it  will  be  out  of  his  power  to  hurt 
"  thee  hereafter,  and  such  forgiveness  will  redound 
^^  to  thy  honour," 
Alwattvs       Augustus,  very  glad  that  he  had  met  with  an  ad- 
Mv'^'j^vocate  of  his  own  humour,  thanl^ed  his  wife;  and 
na]|n\    dismissiug  his  fiiends  whoin  he  had  summoned  to 
^^]^^jj^^  council,  ordered  that  Cinna  should  be  brought  to 
chief  or  ^e  him  alone ;  which  being  done,  lie  commanded  every 
coiupir».  ^^^  out  of  the  room,  and  when  hew^s,  by  his  ap-i 
^intment,  seated  iA  a  chair,*  he  spoke  to  him  after 

♦  This  circumstance,  expressly  noted  by  Seneca,  is  not  imma- 
terialy  because  it  shcms  us  the  manners  of  diat  age ;  ^md  therefore 
I  think  that  the  celebrated  Corneille  did  well  to  make  use  of  it  in  his 
^agedy  of  Cinna,  A  king  who  should  think  it  derogatory  to  his 
royalty  ever  to  see  his  subjects  sitting  in  ^  his  presence,  wduld  Have 
\mt  a  vcr^  diminutive  idea  of  ^ndeur,  which  does  not  depend  oq 


VROM  THB  SAME  COUKSEL.  135 

this  xnanner;  ^^  In  the  first  place,  Ciiinft,  I  desire 
*^  you  would  hear  me  patiently ;  do  not  interrupt  me 
*^  while  I  am  speaking,  after  which  I  will  give  thetf  . 
**  time  and  leisure  to  answer  me.  Thou  knowest,  Cin- 
^^  na,  that  having  taken  thee  prisoner  in  the  enemy's 
*^  camp,  when  thou  not  cmly  didst  bear  arms  against 
**  me,  but  was  my  enemy  by  birth,  I  saved  thy  life, 
<<  gave  thee  all  thy  estate,  and  enabled  thee  to  live 
*^  so  well,  and  so  much  at  thy  ease,  that  the  victo? 
**  even  envied  the  condition  of  the  vanquished.  The 
^  sacerdotal  office,  which  thou  madest  suit  to  me  for, 
^  I  conferred  upon  thee,  after  having  refused  it  others 
^^  whose  ancestors  always. bore  armsfi>r  me;  ofotwith- 
^  standing  which,  thou  hast  undertaken  to  kill  meP* 
Cinna  crying  out  at  this,  that  he  was  very  far  from 
harbouring  so  wicked  a  thought,  Augii^tus  stopped 
him  short,  by  saying,  ^^  Cinna,  thou  dost  not  keep 
^^  thy  promise ;  thou  didst  assure  me  that  I  should 
•*  not  be  interrupted :  yes;  you  did  undertake  to  kill 
^^  me  at  such  a  time  and  place,  in  such  company, 
^  and  in  such  a  manner."  At  which  words,  seeing 
Cinna  astonished  and  silent,  not  for  having  broke 
his  promise  to  be  silent,  but  from  the  sting  of  hia 
conscience,  ^'  What,*'  continued  Augustus,  *^  was 
^^  your  reason  for  doing  this  ?  Was  it  to  be  made 
^^  emperor  ?  Verily  the  public  afiairs  are  in  a  bad 
^  state,  if  I  am  the  only  man  in  the  way  of  thy  ad- 
^  vancement  to  the  empire.  Thou  art  not  so  much 
^'  as  able  to  defend  thy  own  family,  and  wast  lately 
*'  nonsuited  in  a  cause  by  a  mere  libertine.  What ! 
^  will  nothing  avail  thee  but  to  attempt  the  ruin  of 
**  Cassar  i  I  give  up  the  cause,  if  there  is  none  but 
^  I  to  obstruct  thy  hopes.  Dost  thou  imagine  that 
^  Paulus,  Fabius,  the  Cosssans  and  Servilians,  and 
**  so  many  Patricians,  riot  only  noble  by  title,  but 
*^  such  as  honour  their  nobility  by  their  virtue,  will    . 

'  distinctions  of  this  kind.  A  king,  truly  respect^le,  may  freely  dis- 
pense with  this  liberty,  without  risking  the  loss  of  anything,  any 
more  than  Augustus,  Trajan,  QrMarpus  Aur^ua. 


1S6  DIFFEBSKT  £V£NT!l 

"  beat  t^4di  tliee  ?"  After  a  great  deal  more  that  he 
said  to  him  (for  he  talked  to  him  above  two  whole 
hours),  **  Now,  go  thy  way,**  said  he,  "  I  give  thee 
^^  that  life,  Cinna,  as  a  traitor,  and  a  parricide,  which 
**  I  gave  thee  heretofore  as  an  enemy.  Let  friend- 
*^  ship  commence  betwixt  us  from  this  day  forwards ; 
"  let  us  try  which  of  us  two  are  the  honestest  men,  I 
•*  who  have  given  thee  thy  life,  or  thou  who  hast  re- 
**  ceived  it.**  "  And  thus  he  took  his  leave  of  him. 
Some  time  after  he  preferred  him  to  the  consular  dig- 
nity, coniplaining  tnat  he  had  not  the  confidence  to 
demand  it,  had  a  strong  friendship  for  him,  and  made 
him  sole  heir  to  his  estate.  Now  from  the  time  of 
this  accident,  which  befei  Augustus  in  the  fortieth 
year  of  his  age,  there  was  never  any  conspiracy  or 
attempt  formed  against  him,  and  he  thereby  reaped 
a  just  reward  for  his  clemency ;  but  it  did  not  turn 
/  out  so  weU  for  our  prince,  m  the  preceding  story, 

for  his  lenity  was  not  sufficient  to  secure  him  from 
falling  into  the  snares  of  the  Uke  treason,  so  vain  and 
frivolous  a  thing  is  human  prudence,  and  in  spite  of 
all  our  counsels,  projects,  and  precautions,  fortune 
is  always  the  mistress  of  events. - 
SeTi!?c«8     ^^®  repute  physicians  fortunate,  when  they  hit 
of  pbysicuupon  a  lucky  cure  ;  as  if  theirs  was  the  only  art  that 
founded,    ^Qui^j  j^qi  maintain  its  own  ground,  that  its  basis  was 
too  weak  to  support  itself  by  its  own  strength,  and 
as  if  no  other  art  stood  in  need  of  the  assistance  of 
fortune  in  its  operations.     For  my  part,  I  have  as  i 
good,  or  as  bad  an  opinion  of  physic  as  you  please, 
for,  God  be  thanked,  we  hold  no  correspondence. 
I   think  differently  from  other  men;  for  I  always; 
heartily  despise  it  j  and  when  I  am  sick,  instead  of  i 
entering  into  a  composition  with  it,  I  begin  yet  more 
to  detest  and  dread  it ;  and  when  friends  press  me  to 
take  physic,  I  tell  them  to  give  me  time,  at  least  till  j 
f  I  ain  restored  to  my  health  and  strength,  that  I  may 

.  be  the  better  able  to  support  thevidence  and  dan- 
ger of  their  potion.  I  leave  nature  to  its  operation, 
and  am  prepossessed  with  an  opinion,  tjbat  it  is  sufl 


FROM  THE  SAME  COUNSEL.  137 

ficiently  armed  with  teeth  and  talons  to'  defend  it- 
self when  attacked,  and  to  maintain  that  contexture 
of  which  it  abhors  the  dissolution ;  for  I  am  afraid, 
that  the  endeavour  to  assist  it  when  it  grapples  with 
the. disease,  would  really  give  aid  not  to  nature,  but 
to  its  adversary,  and  that  it  would  create  new  diffi- 
culties. 

Now,  I  say,  that  fortune  has  a  great  share,  not  in  Fortme 
phjTsic  only,  but  in  several  other  more  certain  arts.  lUUr*  io'uw 
The  poqtic  sallies  which  transport  and  ravish  their  «>«!?<•  ■■* 
author  out  of  himself,  why  should  we  not  ascribe  pojt^, 
them  to  his  good  fortune,  since  the  poet  himself  con«. 
fesses  they  exceed  his  capacity,  and  acknowledges 
them  to  proceed  from  something  else  than  himseli^ 
and  has  them  no  more  in  his  own  power,  than  the 
orators  say  they  have  in  their  power  those  extraordi- 
nory  motions  and  agitations  that  sometimes  push 
them  beyond  their  design  ? 

So  in  painting,  strokes  shall  sometimes  slip  from  Andinpi^ 
the  hand  of  the  painter,  so  surpassing  his  fancy  and^' 
skill,  as  to  excite  both  his  admiration  and  astonish- 
ment. Nay,  fortune  does  yet  more  plainly  demon- 
strate the  share  she  has  in  all  works  of  this  kind,  by 
the  elegancies  and  beauties  that  appear  in  them,  not 
oidy  beyond  the  intention,  but  even  without  the 
knowledge  of  the  artist  himself.  A  judicious  reader 
often  finds  out  in  another  man's  writings  perfections 
different  from  what  were  either  intended  or  perceived 
by  the  author,  and  gives  them  a  richer  construction 
and  complexion. 

As  to  military  enterprises,  every  one  sees  what  a  And  in  «u 
good  share  fortune  has  in  them.  Even  in  our  coun-  |erori» 
sels  and  deliberations  there  must  certainly  be  a  mix- 
ture of  good  and  bad  luck,  for  all  that  our  wisdom 
can  do  avails  very  little.  The  more  acute  and  quick 
it  is,  the  weaker  it  finds  itself,  and  the  more  diffident 
it  is  of  itself.  I  am  of  Sylla's  opinion ;  and  when  I 
look  more  nicely  into  the  most  glorious  exploits  of 
war,  I  perceive,  methinks,  that  the  conductors  of 
them  make  use  of  deliberation  and  CQimsel  onl^  for 


138  DIFFERENT  EVEKT8 

form  sake,  leaving  the  best  share  of  the  enterprise 
to  fortune,  and,  depending  upon  her  aid,  tran^ess 
at  every  turn  the  limits  of  justifiable  conduct*  '!niere 
happen  sometimes  accidental  alacrities  and  strange 
furies  in  their  deliberations,  which  prompt  them  ire- 
fluently  to  the  most  improbable  course,  and  swell 
tneir  courage  beyond  the  bounds  of  reason.    From 
hence  it  falls  out,  that  man^  great  commanders  of 
old,  to  give  a  sanction  to  their  rash  resolutions,  have 
toLd  their  soldiers,  that  they  were  induced  thereto 
.  by  some  inspiration,  omen,  orpro^ostic.  o^  ^tkAJuK   ' 
The  caane     In  this  Uncertainty  and  perplexity,  owing  to  Our 
U^|JJ|^*,n  incapacity  to  discern  and  choose  what  is  of  i£e  great- 
cases  the   est  advantage,  by  reason  of  the  difficulties  arising 
wMcb  b    ^^^™  ^^  various  accidents  of  thin^,  I  think,  that 
wAccrquo.  though  uo  Other  consideration  should  be  our  motive, 
the  surest  way  would  be  to  pitch  upon  that  course 
which  is  most  just  and  honourable;   and,  as  the 
shortest  way  is  not  evident,  to  keep  always  in  the  di- 
rect path  ;  forasmuch  as  in  the  two  instances  I  have 
just  now  mentioned,  it  is  not  to  be  doubted  that  it 
was  more  noble  and  generous  in  him  who  had  re* 
ceived  the  injury,  to  pardon  it,  than  if  he  acted 
otherwise ;  and  if  the  first  was  disappointed  in  it,  he 
is  not  to  be  blamed  for  his  good  intention,  it  not 
being  a  clear  point,  whether,  if  he  had  acted  a  con- 
trary part,  he  would  have  escaped  the  issue  to  which 
he  was  doomed  by  his  destiny,  and  have  lost  the  re* 
putation  of  such  an  act  of  humanity. 
Whether  it     In  history  there  are  many  instances  of  persons  xm- 
jj;^^p*^der  this  impression  of  fear,  by  which  most  of  them 
vent  COD-  have  been  impelled  to  obviate  the  conspiracies  that 
b^*  bio^y  were  forming  against  them,  by  revenge  and  punish-* 
•xeciitioD?.fnent,  but  I  find  very  few  to  whom  this  remedy  has 
been  of  service :  witness  many  of  the  Roman  em- 
perors.    Whoever  finds  himself  in  this  danger,  ought 
not  to  expect  much  cither  fi-om  his  strength  or  his 
>agilance :  for  how  difficult  is  it  for  a  man  to  guard 
against  an  enemy  who' wears  the  countenance  of  the 
most  officious  friend  we  liave,  and  to  know  the  incli- 


FROM  THE  SAME  COUNSEL,  189 

nation  and  inward  sentiments  of  those  who  are  pre- 
sent with  us.  It  is  to  very  little  purpose  for  a  man  to 
have  a  guard  of  foreigners,  and  to  be  always  fenced 
nbout  by  files  of  men  in  arms,  since  whoever  does 
not  value  his  own  life,  will  always  be  master  of  that  of 
another  man. 

Moreover,  that  continual  suspicion  which  makes  a  The  tad 
prince  lealous  of  all  mankind,  must  needs  be  a  ^*f**  **  • 
Strange  torment  to  him.  Therefore  it  was  that  Dion,  b  too  miti, 
being  warned  that  Callippus  watched  for  opportuni-*"^*^ 
ties  to  take  away  his  life,  never  had  the  heart  to  en- 
quire particulaiiy  into  the  matter,  saying,  that  he 
had  rather  die,  than  live  in  such  misery,  to  be  upon 
his  guard,  not  only  against  his  enemies,  but  against 
his  fiiends.*  Alexander  behaved  with  more  spirit 
and  resolution,  when,  being  advised  by  a  letter  firom 
Parmenio,  that  Philip,  his  darling  physician,  was 
Imbed  with  money  by  Darius  to  poison  nim,  at  the 
^me  time  that  he  gave' the  very  letter  to  Philip  to 
read,  swallowed  the  dose  he  had  brought  him.t  Wag 
Ifiot  this  a  declaration  of  his  resolution,  that  if  his 
ifriends  had  a  mind  to  despatch  him  out  of  the  world^ 
to  give  them  free  liberty  to  do  it  ?  This  prince  is 
celebrated  for  hazardous  actions ;  but  I  do  not  know 
whether,  in  all  his  life;  there  be  another  passage  that 
demonstrates  more  constancy  than  this,  or  any  noble 
action  of  his  that  shines  with  so  much  lustre.  Thqr 
who  preach  up  to  princes  such  a  circumspect  dim- 
dcnce,  under  colour  of  dictating  for  their  security, 
do  only  preach  to  their  ruin  and  dishonour.  Nothing 
truly  noble  is  achieved  without  hazard.  I  know  a 
person  naturally  of  a  very  enterprising,  heroic  cou- 
ragCj  whose  good  fortune  is  continually  prevented 
by  such  persuasions  as  these;  that  he  keep  those 
only  about  him  whom  he  knows  to  be  his  friends  ; 
that  he  hearken  tQ  no  reconciliaidioq  with  his  old  ene* 


*  Plutarch,  in  the  notable  sayings  of  th^  ancient  kipgs* 
f  Quintus  Curtiii8|  lib.  iiL  ^p.  6, 


140  DIFFERENT  EVENTS 

mies ;  that  he  live  retired,  and  not  venture  his  per* 
.  son  with  hands  stronger  than  his  own,  what  promise 
soever  may  be  made  to  him,  or  what  prospect  soever 
he  may  have  of  advantage.  I  know  another,  who 
has  unexpectedly  made  his  fortune  by  following  quite 
contrary  advice. 
How  far  The  courage  of  which  men  so  greedily  court  the 
ou^Ju^iobe  glory,  is  dispXajred,  upon  occasion,  as  magnificeiitly 
exerted,  in  a  doublct  as  in  ii  coat  of  mail ;  in  a  cabinet  as  in  a 
camp  i  with  the  arm  hanging  down,  as  well  as  lifted 
up.  Such  tender  and  wary  precaution  is  a  mortal 
enemy  to  noble  exploits,  bcipio,  in  order  to  sound 
Syphax's  intention,  leaving  his  army,  and  abandixi- 
ing  Spain,  not  yet  well  settled  in  ms  new  conquest, 
could  pass  over  to  Africa  in  two  contemptible  bot> 
toms,  implicitly  commit  himself,  in  an  enemy's  coun^ 
try,  to  the  power  of  a  barbarian  king  upon  Uie  single 
security  of  the  greatness  of  his  own  courage,  his  good 
fortune,  and  his  elevated  hopes.  Habitajides  ipsam 
plerumquejidetn  obligat:*  i.  e»  The  confidence  we  re- 
pose in  another  often  procures  the  return  of  the  like 
confidence.  On  the  contrary,  for  a  life  of  ambition 
and  eclat,  it  is  necessary  to  hold  a  stiff  rein  upon  sus* 
picion.  Fear  and  diffidence  invite  and  draw  on  in* 
jury.  The  most  jealous  of  our  kings  (Lewis  XI.) 
established  his  afiairs  chiefly  by  voluntarily  trusting 
his  enemies  with  his  life  and  liberty,  manifesting 
.thereby  his  entire  confidence  in  them,  to  the  end  that 
they  might  repose  the  same  in  him.  Csesar  opposed 
only  the  authority  of  his  countenance,  andthe  sharp* 
ncss  of  his  rebukes,  to  his  armed  legions  that  muti^ 
nied  against  him  ;  and  he  trusted  so  much  to  himself 
and  his  fortune,  that  he  was  not  afraid  to  abandon 
and  commit  it  to  a  seditious  and  rebellious  army : 


Sletit  aggere  fulti 
Ceftpitis,  inlrepidus  vuliu,  meruitque  t'meri 
Nil  meiuens.f 

*  Liviusi;^  f  Lucan,  lib.  v.  ver.SlG,  &c 


FROM  THE  I^AME  COUNSEL.  141 

Upon  a  parapet  of  turf  he  stood. 

His  manly  &oe  with  resolution  shone ; 
And  chiU'd  the  mutineers'  inflamed  blood, 
Challenging  fear  from  all^  by-  fearing  none. 

This  undaunted  assurance,  however,  cannot  be  contiteiice 
represented  to  perfection,*  but  by  such  as  are  not  af-  ^'Ijy*  ^^^ 
frighted  by  the  apprehension  of  death,  and  the  worst  apprarl 
th^  can  I^ppen  j  fiwp  to  offer  a  trembling  resolution,  "^^"[^^^ 
which  is  ever  doubtful  and  uncertain,  for  the  service 
of  our  important  reconciliation,  is  nothing  to  the 
purpose.    It  is  an  excellent  way  for  a  person  to  win 
the  heart  and  good  will  of  another,  to  offer  his  ser- 
vice and  trust  to  him,  provided  it  be  freely  and  un- 
constrained by  necessity,  and  diat  he  manirest  a  pure 
and  entire  confidence  in  him,  and  a  countenance 
clear  of  the  least  cloud  of  suspicion.     When  I  was  a 
boy,  I  saw  a  gentleman,  a  commanding  of&cer  in  a 
great  city,  who,  on  occasion  of  a  popular  commo- 
tion, in  order  to  suppress  it  in  the  bud,  went  out  of 
a  place  where  he  was  very  secure,  and  committed 
himself  to  the  mercy  of  the  turbulent  rabble ;  but  it 
was  ill  for  him  that  he  did  so,  for  he  was  there  miser- 
ably killed.    Nevertheless,  I  do  not  think  he  was  so 
much  to  blame  in  going  out,  as  for  having  chose  a 
method  of  submission  and  meekness,  and  for  endea- 
vouring to  appease  this  storm,  rather  by  being  a  fol- 
lower than  a  leader,  and  by  entreaty  rather  than  re- 
monstrance.    And  I  am  inclined  to  believe,  that  a 
graceful  severity,  with  a  soldier-like  way  of  command- 
ing, full  of  security  and  confidence,  suitable  to  his 
rank,  and  the  dignity  of  his  office,  would  have  suc- 
ceeded better  with  hun ;  at  least,  he  would  have  died 
with  more  honour  and  decency.     There  is  nothing 
so  little  to  be  expected  from  this  many-headed  mon- 
8tc7Jwhen  thus  stirred  up,  as  humanity  arid  good- 
nature.    It  is  much  more  susceptible  of  reverence 
and  fear.     Having  taken  a  resolution,  in  my  opinion, 
rather  brave  than  rash,  of  throwing  himself  weak 
and  naked  into  this  tempestuous  sea  of  madmen,  he 


14d  UtFFEftEitT^VElflM 

blight  boldly  to  have  stemmed  the  tide,  and  0ot  hav€ 

suffered  himself  to  be  carried  away  with  it ;  whereas^ 

when  he  began  to  see  his  danger  near  at  hand,  his 

nose  happening  to  bleed,  that  easy  smiling  counter 

nance  which  he  ha4  assumed  was  chai^ged  into  one 

of  fear,  his  voice  and  eyes  showing  bow  amazement 

and  repentance,  and  by  endeavouring  to  steal  away 

and  secure  his  person,  he  did  but  iQflame  theln,  ana 

called  them  upon  him. 

Aconff.        A  general  review  was  oQce  talked  of,  of  certain 

T^^d  forces  under  arms  (that  being  the  most  likely  op* 

«r«?p»      portumty  of  secret  revenge,  so  that  there  is  ho  place 

•  hlTppy^fs.  where  it  can  be  exercised  with  more  safety);  and  it 

•V*         was  public  and  notorious  that  it  was  not  sate  for  some 

to  come,  whose  principal  and  necessary,  office  it  was 

to  view  them.     A  council  was  held,   and  sevend 

things  proposed,  as  in  a  matter  not  onlv  of  difficulty, 

but  also  of  weight  and  consequence.    One  was,  that 

they  should  above  all  things  avoid  giving  the  least 

sign  of  any  mistrust,  and  that  the  officers  most  in 

danger  should  come  with  erect  and  open  counter 

nances,  mingle  themselves  in  the  files,  and  instead 

of  sparing  fire  (to  which  the  other  opinions  inclined 

most),  they  should  solicit  the  captains  to  fire  in  pfa^ 

toons,  as  a  salvo  to  the  spectators,  and  not  to  be 

sparing  of  their  powder.    Ijbis  was  so  pleasing  to  the 

suspected  troops,  that  from  that  time  forward  there 

subsisted  a  mutual  confidence  among  them. 

thenm^       I  think  the  method  which  Julius  Cassar  toc^  was 

j^'ikirc^^^^  best  that  can  be  followed.    In  the  first  place,  he 

Mr  took  to  endeavoured  to  win  the  hearts  of  his  very  enemies  by 

Ct"  of  hb  clemency,  contenting  himself^  when  any  conspiracy' 

was  discovered  to  him,  with  the  single  declaration  that 

he  knew  it  before.    This  done,  he  todk  a  noble  re^ 

solution  to  expect,  without  soUcitude  or  fear,  what^ 

ever  might  be  the  event,  abandoning  and  resiflning 

himself  to  the  care  of  the  gods  and  fortune ;  mr  no 

doubt  he  was  in  this  mind  at  the  very  instant  be  waa 

killed.   I.:..  ..     V.r,. 


tkOM  T9S  SAME  C<>U1^8EL.  14S 

A  foreigner  intimgtedi  that  if  the  tyrant  of  Sjrra*  Ad^Eketo* 
cuse,  Dionysiiut,  would  give  a  good  sum  of  money,  {o^^**'' 
he  could  m&mn  him  of  a  method  how  he  might  be  asatM^Aoy 
certain  of  discovering  all  conspiracies  which  his  subr  '^^^'' 
jects  might  form  against  him.  Dionysius,  hearing  of 
ity  sent  for  him,  to  teach  him  an  art  so  necessary  for 
his  preservation :  the  p^son  told  him,  that  there  was 
nothiqg  more  in  the  art,  than  that  he  should  giv9 
him  a  (Roman)  talent»  and  then  boast  that  he  nad 
learned  a  singidv  secret  from  him.*  Dionvsius  gp^ 
proved  of  the  contrivance,  and  ordered  nim  600 
crowns*  It  was  not  likely  that  he  should  give  so 
ereat  a  sum  to  a  person  unknown,  but  as  a  reward 
tor  a  very  usefiil  discovery,  the  belief  of  which  served 
to  keepr  his  enanies  in  awe.  Princes,  however,  do 
very  wisely  to  publish  the  advices  they  receive  of 
practices  against  their  lives,  in  order  to  create  an 
opinion  that  they  have  gpod  intelligence,  and  that 
nothing  can  be  plotted  against  them,  of  which  they 
have  not  some  tidings.  The  duke  of  Athens  did  ma^* 
ny  ridiculous  things  in  the  establishment  of  his  new 
tyrannv  over  Florence ;  but  the  moat  remarkable  was 
this,  that  having  received  the  first  intelligence  of  thd 
conspiracies  which  the  people  were  forming  against 
hun,  by  means  of  Mattneo  di  Moroso,  their  accom-^ 
plice,  he  put  him  to  death,  in  order  to  stifle  the  re^ 
port,  and  that  it  might  not  be  thought  any  man  in 
the  city  disliked  his  govenunent. 

I  remember  to  have  formerly  read  a  story  of  a  cer-  Extniw«^ 
tain  Roman,  a  personage  of  dignity,  wno,  in  hisj^n*^ 
.  flight  from  the  tyranny  of  the  Triumvirate,  escaped 
a  thousand  t^nes  from  his  pursuers  by  a  thousand 
Bubtilties.  It  happened  one  day  that  a  troop  of  horse, 
which  was  sent  to  take  him,  passed  close  by  a  brake 
in  which  he  Jay  hid,  and  narrowly  missed  him.  But 
he,  considerijQig  the  pain  and  hardships  which  he  had 
already  so  long  endured  to  escape  the  strict  and  con« 
tinual  search  that  was  every  where  made  for  him,  the 

^  Flatftfcb,  ia  the  notabte  sajiogs  of  the  ancient  kings. 


144  OP  PEDAKTAY. 

little  pleasure  he  could  hope  for  in  such  a  life,  and 
how  much  better  it  was  for  him  to  die  once  for  all, 
than  to  be  perpetually  in  this  dread ;  he  that  instant 
called  them  back,  showed  them  where  he  hid 
himself,  and  voluntarily  surrendered  himself  to  their 
cruelty,  in  order  to  rid  both  himself  and  them  of  any 
Birther  trouble.  To  call  upon  an  enemy  to  dispatcn 
one,  seems  a  little  too  rash;  yeU  I  think,  he  did 
better  to  take  that  course,  than  to  live  in  continual 
apprehension,  for  which  there  was  no  other  cure. 
But  seeing  that  all  the  remedies  which  can  be  ap« 
plied  to  such  a  case,  are  full  of  uneasiness  and  un- 
certainty, it  is  better  to  prepare  with  a  good  appear- 
ance for  the  work  that  may  happen,  and  to  be  com- 
forted with  the  consideration,  that  we  are  not  cer- 
tain that  what  we  so  much  dread  will  come  to  pass. 


fiHaiiti 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Of  Pedantry. 

1  WAS  of^en  vexed,  when  I  was  a  boy,  to  see  § 
•'•"^^^  pedant  always  brought  in  as  a  coxcomb  in  the  Italian 
•f  be»t"    comedies,    and  that  the  title  of  master  was  in  no 
**^*       greater  esteem  amongst  us  ;  for  as  I  was  put  under 
their  tuition,  could  I  help  having  a  tenderness  for 
their  reputation?    I  endeavoured,  indeed,   to  ex- 
cuse them  from  the  natural  disparity  that  is  betwixt 
the  vulgar,  and  persons  of  excellent  and  uncommon 
.  judgment  and  knowledge ;  but  in  this  I  was  non- 
plussed, when  I  found,  that  the  men  of  the  best 
sense  were  they  who  most  heartily  despised  them ; 
witness  our  famous  poet,  Du  Bellay : 

Mais  je  hay  parsur  tout  un  scawir  pedantesque* 
But  above  all  things  1  abominate  pedantic  leuniog; 


or  pi»4K»t*  |43i? 

And  ih^x  w^  ^  ^0  sQ  in  formQr  ti«i$9;  $>f  j^lut^t^b 
sa^8t  that  the  terms  Grecian  iHd  Scholar  W9r§  nvKi^ 
of  reproach  and  contempt   among  the   {lomaAs^ 
Afterwa]:d3  I  found,  by  the  experience  of  yf^r% 
that  they  had  abundant  reason  for  it»  and  tbikt  nu/gh 
magnos  Chric^s  nan  wni  fHogi^  m$gfw.sfipi^^^:^ 
h  e.  That  the  greatest  scholars  are  not  tibe  wi^esi 
men.    But  how  it  should  come  to  pass,  1^  a  qiin^i 
enriched  with  the  knowledge  of  so  many  l^ngs,  4oe4 
not  thereby  become  die  more  quiok  and  liMw>  ^ 
that  a  gross  and  common  understanding  ^ko^^  te^ 
room,  without  improving  itself,  for  the  discoursie^ 
and  judgments  of  the  most  exoeUent  gmm  the  world 
ever  produced.  Jam  yet  to  seek.    Ajroung  l^dy, 
one  of  the  first  of  our  prinicesses,  ^d  1»  me  once^ 
speaking  of  a  certain  person,  that  he  adA^tted  aa 
many  ¥rdd  and  strange  notions,  and  such  strong  con« 
ceptions,  that  his  brains  must  be  cr<H;ided  and  pressed 
together  into  a  less*  compass,  to  make  room  xor  any 
others.     I  should  be  ready  to  conclude^  that  aa 
plants  are  drowned  wiUi  too  much  moisture,  an<i 
lamps  with  too  much  oil,  so  too  much  study  and  bur 
inness  has  the  same  effect  upon  the  operation  of  the 
mind ;  which  being  employed  and  embarrassed  by  a 
Variety  of  matter,  has  no  power  to  tlirow  off  t^c; 
Weight  which  keeps  it  bowed,  and,  as  it  were,  be^ 
numbetL:  but  it  is  quite  otherwise;  for  the  mind, 
the  fuller  it  is,  the  more  it  expands  itself;  and,  to 
look  back  to  ancient  times,  we  see  men  very  suffix 
cient  for  the  management  of  public  affairs,  great 
captains  and  ^reat  statesmen,  who  were  witlial  men 
of  ^eat  learning.     As  to  the  philosophers,  who  were  Phiioto- 
retu-ed  from  all  public  affairs,  their  opinions  and  sin- ^*5^^^j 
guiarities  have  also  sometimes  exposed  thetn  to  ridi-  wby. 
cule.    Would  you  make  them  judges  of  the  merits  of 
a  law^suit,  or  of  a  man's  actions  ?    They  are  fully 
prepared  for  it,  and  straight  begin  to  examine  if  there 

*  A  kind  of  proverb,  which  is  only  mentioned  in  this  rough  mail*- 
ner  to  render  the  pretenders  to  learning  the  more  ridiculous.  Yott 
wS  find  it  in  Rabelais,  lib.i*  cap.  29* 

VOt.  !•  L 


be  fife^  if  there  he  motion,  if  the  man  be  9t^  othft^ 
than  an  ox  ;*  what  is  active  and  passive,  and  what 
sort  of  aniinals  law  and  justice  afe.  Do  they  speak 
either  of  a  magistrate,  or  to  him,  it  is  with  an  irre- 
verent  and  uncivil  freedom.  Do  ithej  hear  a  prince 
or  a  king  commeiided,t  they  treat  him,  at  best,  but 
s$  an  iSe  sluepberd,  that  misies  himself  only  about 
imUdnff  and  sharing  his  flocks  Do  you  esteem  any 
maa  of  tlie  greater  conseqaence  ibr  being  lord  cd 
9000  aci%6  OT  land  It  they  laugh  at  your  regard, 
bemg  accustomed  to  claim  the  whole  world  for  their 
possession.  Do  you  boast  of  your  nobility,  or  their 
being  descended  from  seven  rich  ancestors?  they 
look  up<m  you  with  contempt,  aa  men  that  have  no 
nodon  of  the  universd  image  of  nature,  and  that 
do  not  conmdter  bow  many  predecessors  evefy  one  of 
us  have  had,  rich,  poor,  kings,  slaves,  Greeks,  and 
bmrbarians.  And  though  ycm  were  the  fiftieth  de- 
scendant from  Hercules,  they  think  yon  vain  to  set 
^uch  a  value  on  this,  which  is  only  a  gift  of  fcMtnne. 
Consequently  the  vulgar  scorned  them,  asr  men  who 
were  ignorant  of  the  world. 
tbe  mide  But  thi&  Platonic  picture  does  l^  no  means  re- 
brtw'i^r  ^mble  our  pedants ;  for  the  philosophers  were  envied 
the  ancient  fef  thinking  themselvcs  better  than  the  common  sort 
yhe^d  of  men,  despising  public  affiiirs  and  transactions, 
dVnS^  affedting  a  particular  manner  of  life,  and  discoursing 
in  bombast  and  obsolete  language.  But  the  pedanta 
are  despised  for  being  below  the  usual  ibrm,  for 
being  incapable  of  public  offices,  and,  for  their  low- 
life  manners,  resembling  the  vulgar.    Odi  homines^ 

*  If  MontaigneitfM  copied  this  from  Plat</fi  Thcnteles,  p.  127,  F. 
as  "it  J8  plain  by  aU  which  he  has  added  immediately  after,  that  he  haa 
taken  it  froiia  that  dialogue,  he  has  grosslv  mistaken  PUito's  senti- 
ntent,  who aays  here.no  more  than  this,  that  the  philosopher  is  so 
ignorant  of  what  tis  n«i^hboar  does,  that  he  scarce  knows  whether 
TO  is  a  man,  or  some  other  animal ;  th  rnkm  •  pw  irAwtm  wu  • 


4aotft. 


t  Pl^'s  Theatetes^  p.  128,  A. 
%  Plato's  Theatetes,  p.  128,  R.  £. 


Of  pfiiiAKTRir«  147 

Snffca  apera^  philosophica  sententia  :*  i.  e.  I  hate 
e  men  who  think  like  philosophers,  but  at  the 
same  time  are  mere  triilersi  As  tot  those  same  phi* 
losophers,  I  must  needs  say,  that  as  they  were  great 
men  in  science,  they  were  yet  much  greater  in  all 
their  ^k^tions,  as  it  is  said  of  the  geometrician  of 
SryracusCyt  who,  being  disturbed  in  his  contempla- 
tion, in  order  to  put  some  of  his  skill  in  practice  for 
the  defence  of  his  couiitrjr,  suddenly  set  on  foot  cer- 
tain terrible  eainnes,  which  wrought  effects  bejrond. 
all  human  belief;  yet,  nevertheless,  he  himself  de^ 
spised  hisrown  hanaywork,  thinking  that,  by  playing 
the  mechanic,  he  had  debased  the.digni^  of  his  art^ 
of  which  he  reckoned  tho^e  performances  but  trivial 
exertions,  by  way  of  expenment.  So  they  some^ 
times,  when  they  have  been  put  upon  the  prod  (j(t 
action,  have  been  seen  to  fly  to  so  high  a  pitch,  that 
it  plainly  appeared  their  hearts  and  souls  were  ele» 
vated  to  a  strange  degree,  While  their  minds  were 
enriched  with  the  knowledge  of  thin^  Nay  some, 
who  saw  the  reins  of  government  seized  by  persons 
incapable  of  holdibg  them,  have  avoided  afl  share  id 
die  management  of  affidi^.  And  he  who  asked  Crates, 
how  long  he  thought  it  necessary  to  philosophise, 
received  for  answer,  'VAs  long  as  our  armies  are 
**  comnumded  by  blockheads/'t 

Heraclitus  resigned  the  royalty  to  his  brother  i^ 
and  the  Ephesians  reproaching  him  fbr  spending  his 
time  in  fisLying  with  boys  bcK^re  the  temjde,^  ^^  Is  it 
"  not  better,'^said  he,||  "  to  do  so,  than  to  sit  at  the 
^^  helm  of  affairs  with  you  ?*'  Others,  having  their 

'  *  PacUvitts  apud  Aul.  Gelliiu,  lib.  xtiu  cap*  8* 

\  Archimedes^  in  FluUrdi^s  Life  df  Marccllus,  ch.  6  of  Axnyot*^ 
translation. 

X  Diogenes  Laerdus,  in  the  Life  of  Crates,  lib-  vi-  sect.  92. 

§  Diogenes  liertiusy  in  the  Li&^of  HeracliMM,lib.ix«  sect.  6. 
By  Bm-iIam*  is  to  be  understood,  according  to  M^age^  not  royalty 
in  the  prooer  sense  of  the  word,  \m  a  pmcular  office  which  was  so 
styled  at  Epheftus,  as  well  as  at  Athens  and  Ilome,  aft  v  thexr  rentmi^ 
ciation  6f  a  nu^narchical  gove)fnn)tol« 

n  IbideiH,  sect.  3. 


148  OP  PEDANTRT. 

thoughts  elevated  above  the  world  and  fortune,  havtf 
looked  upon  the  tribunals  of  justice,  and  even  the 
thrones  of  kings,  with  an  eye  of  contempt  and  scorn. 
Thus  Empedocles  refused  the  royalty  which  was 
offered  to  nim  by  the  Agrigentines.*  Thales,  once 
inveighing  against  the  care  and  pains  men  took  to 
grow  rich,  was  compared  to  the  fox,  who  said  of  the 
grapes  which  he  could  not  come  at,  that  they  were 
sour ;  whereupon  he  had  a  mind,  for  the  jest's  sake, 
to  show  them  an  experiment  to  the  contrary ;  and 
after  having  prostituted  his  learning  in  the  search  of 
profit  and  gain,  he  set  up  a  traffick,t  which  in  less 
than  a  year  brought  him  so  much  wealth,  that  the 
most  experienced  in  the  business  were  scarce  able, 
with  all  their  industry  and  economy,  to  rake  so  much 
together  in  their  whole  lives.  What  Aristotle  re- 
ports of  some,  who  termed  Thales,  Anaxagoras,  and 
the  like  sort  of  men  wise^  but  not  prudent j  for  not 
taking  due  care  of  the  main  chance,  though  I  do  not 
well  digest  the  diflerence  of  those  epithets,  will  not 
however  serve  as  an  excuse  for  my  pedants ;  for  to^ 
.  consMer  the  low  and  necessitous  fortunes  with  which*^ 
they  are  contented,  we  have  rather  reason  to  pro- 
:  nounce,  that  they  are  neither  wise  nor  prudent 
u^n\n  ^^>  *^  ^^®  "P  '^  ^*  reason,  I  think  it  better 

A^mpt-  to  say,  th^t  the  misfortune  arises  from  their  wrong 
iMr  wrong  ^^thoid  of  applying  themselves  to  the  sciences ;  and 
€jacattoD.  that,  afler  the  manner  in  which  we  are  instructed,  it 
is  no  wonder  if  neither  the  scholars  ^or  the  masters 
are  a  whit  the  more  capable  of  business,  though  they 
are  the  more  learned.  In  truth,  the  care  and  ex- 
pense our  parents  are  at,  have  .no  other  aim  but  to 
furnish  our  heads  with  knowledge,  but  not  a  word  of 
judgment  ind  virtue.     Cry  out  of  one  that  passes  hy^ 

♦Diogenes,  in  the.  Life  of  Empedocfes,  Kb.  viii.  sect.  6S. 

t  Cicero  de  Divinatione,  lib.  u  cap.  49,  says,  thai  Thales,  fa 
order  to  show  that  it  was .  possible,  even  for  a  philosopher^  if  he 
pleased,  to  get  an  estate,  bought  up  all  the  olive  tree^in  the  Mile^ 
sian  field  before  they  were  in  blOom.  See  Diogenes  Laertius,  in  the< 
Life  of  Thales,  lib.  u  sect.  26. 


!DF  reDANTRT.  149 

"  O!  tehat  aleftrnedmanid  that!''  and  of  another, 
'^  O !  what  a  ^ood  man  is  that  i**  the  people  will  not 
iail  to  turn  their  eyes,  and  pay  their  respects  to  the 
former.  There. should  then  be  a  third  man  to  cry 
out,  "Oi  what  blockheads  arc  they!**  Men  are 
ready  to  adc,  dtfes  he  understand  Greek  or  Latin  f  1$ 
he  a  poet  or  prose  writer  ?  But  whether  he  is  the 
better  or  more  discfeet  man,  though  it  is  the  main 
^estion,  is  the  last;  for  the  inquiry  should  be,  who 
iias  the  best  Ijearaiiig,  not  who  has  the  most 

We  only  take  pains  to  stuff  the  memory,  and  leave  Tbey  on\f 
the  understtoding  and  conscience  quite  unfurnished*  i^^^^ 
As  the  birds  which  fly  abroad  to  forage  for  grain,  memory. 
t>ring  it  home  in  the  beak,  without  tasting  it  them* 
selves,  to  feed  their  young ;  just  so  our  plants  pick 
knowledge  out  of  several  authors,  ana  hold  it  at 
their  tongue's  end,  to  spit  out  and  distribute  it 
abroad.    It  is  strange  to  think  how  guilty  I  mysdf 
am  of  this  very  folly  y  for  do  I  not  the  saine  thing 
almost  throughout  this  whtfle  treatise  i  I  cull  here 
and  there  out  of  several  books  such  sentences  as 
please  me,  not  to  keep  them  ifi  my  memory  (for  I 
nave  none  to  retain  them),  but  to  transplant  them 
into  this  work,  where,  to  say  the  truth,  they  are  no    , 
mote  niine  thm  they  w^e  in  the  places  from  whence    • 
I  took  them. 

We  are,  as  I  conceive,  oftly  skilled  in  the  know«  Tbey  <mif 
ledge  of  the  present,  and  not  at  all  of  what  is  past,^^^**  ^ 
or  to  come ;  out  the  worst  of  it  is,  the  scholars  and  tuIo  dif»^ 
pupils  of  these  pedants  are  no  better  nourished  orgJVj*^^^^^ 
improved  by  it,  and  it  passes  from  one  hand  toing. 
another  fbr  this  purpose^  only  to  make  a  show  of  it 
in  conversation,  ana  story-telling,  like  those  glitter- 
ing counters,  which  are  of  no  other  use  or  service 
but  to  play  or  count  a  game  with.     Apud  alios  loqui 
didiceruntj  non  ipsi  secum  ;♦  i.  e.  They  have  learned 
to  converse  with  others,  but  not  with  themselves. 
Non  est  loifuendum^  sed  gubernandum  :i  the  business 
is  not  to  talk,  but  to  manage, 

*  Cic.  Tusc*  Qussi.  lib.  v.  cap*  S6.  f  Senec  Epist.  108. 


15Q  OF  FEDANTEY. 

"Nature,  to  show  that  its  conduct  is  not  wild,  does 
often,  in  nations  which  are  the  least  cultivated  by 
art,  give  rise  to  productions  of  genius,  such  as  are  a 
snatch  for  the  greatest  efforts  of  art.     In  relation  to 
what  I  am  now  speaking  of,  the  Gascon  proverb 
dejcived  from  a  reed  pipe,  has  a  delicate  meaning, 
Bouhd  pro  bouhay  mas  a  remuda  lous  dits  qu^em :  i.  e« 
You  may  blow  yoiu*  heart  out,  but  if  once  you  stir 
your  fingers,  it  is  all  over.    We  can  exclaim,  says 
Cicero,  these  were  the  morals  of  Plato ;  these  the 
very  words  of  Aristotle :  but  what  do  we  stty  our- 
selves that  is  our  own  ?  What  is  it  we  do  ?  What  is 
our  own  judgment  ?  A  parrot  would  say  as  much  to 
thepurpose  as Ihis. 
Theitapi.     THb^is  puts  me  in  mind  of  that  wealthy  Roman,* 
WL^,^  who  had  taken  care,  though  at  a  very  great  expense^ 
Id'hi^*'^if  *^  coHect  able  men  in  every  science,  whom  he  kept 
anuu^f  continually^  in  his  company,   to  the  end,  that  if 
iTcTj^he  ^^^'^g**  ^^  friends  any  topic  of  discourse  should  be 
iild?mi«d  started,  they  might  supply  nis  place,  and  be  ready  to 
JJ"  *■  ^**  prompt  him,  one  with  a  8aying,t  another  with  a  verse 
of  Homer,  &c.  every  one  according  to  his  talent ; 
and  he  fancied  this  knowledge  to  be  his  own,  be- 
cause it  was  in  the  heads  of  those  whom  he  retained 
about  him  ;    as  they  also  do  whQse  fund  of  learning 
lies  in  their  sumptuous  libraries.     I  know  one,  who, 
when  I  ask  him  a  question,  calls  for  a  book  to  show 
me  the  answer ;  and  he  would  not  even  have  the 
Courage  to  tell  me  he  has  the  piles,  without  having 
immediate  recourse  to  his  dictionary  to  find  out  the 
meaning  of  the  words  scab  and  fundament. 

^  *  Clavlaeus  Sabinus,  He  lived  in  the  ime  of  Seneca ;  who,  be- 
sides what  Montaigne  here  says  of  him,  reports  stories  that  are  even 
more  ridkuloiu  of  this  rich  impertinent,  epist  27* 

t  His  memory  was  so. bQd,  that  he  every  now  «nd  then  forgot  the 
names  of  Ulysses,  Aqhilles,  and  Priam,  ^houffh  he  had  known  them 
as  well  as  we  knew  our  pedagogues;  yet  h^  had  a  mind  to  be  thought 
learned,  and  invented  this  compendious  method,  viz.  he  bought 
slaves  at  a  great  prioe,  one  who  was  master  of  Homer,  another  of 
Hesiod,  and  nine  of  lyrie  poetry,  to  whom  he,  every  now  and  then^ 
had  recourse  for  verses,  which  in  rehearsing  he  oflen  stopped  in  the 
piiddle  of  a  verse,  yet  he  thought  he  knew  as  much  9S  any  one  in  the 
bouso  did,    Seneca,  ibid. 


OfnDAKTETv  ISl 

"We  take  other  men's  opinions  upon  trust,  and  give  UmAa^^it 
outsell^  no  manner  of  trouble ;  whereas  we  should  Jj!^^^ 
make  them  our  own.  In  this  we  seem  to  be  veryii^arawa. 
like  the  man,  who,  wanting  fire,  went  to  his  neigh- 
bour's house  to  fetch  it,*  and  finding  a  very  good  one 
there,  stayed  to  warm  hiniself  by  it,  but  never  re- 
membered to  carry  any  home  with  him.  Of  what 
sendee  is  it  to  us  to  have  a  bellyful  of  meat,  if  it 
does  not  digest,  if  it  does  not  change  its  form  in  our 
bodies,  andif  it  does  not  nourish  and  strengthen 
us?  Can  we  imagine  that  Lucullus,  whose  learnings 
without  any  manner  of  experience,  made  and  formed 
him  so  great  a  commander,  acquired  it  after  our 
manner  ?  We  suffer  ourselves  to  lean  so  much  upon 
the  arms  of  others,  that  our  strength  is  of  no  use  to 
us.  Would  I  fiirtify  m/self  against  the  fear  of  deaths 
J  do  it  at  the  expense  of  Seneca;  would  I  extract 
consolation  for  myself  or  my  fiiend,  I  borrow  it  from 
Cicero;  whereas  1  might  have  found  it  in  myself,  i£ 
I  had  been  trained  up  in  the  exercise  of  my  own 
reason.  I  do  not  fancy  this  acquiescence  in  second- 
hand hearsay  knowledge ;  for  though  We  may  be 
learned  by  the  help  of  another's  knowledge,  we  can 
never  be  wise  but  oy  our  own  wisdom : 

Mfttf'S  tf'of  K^v  «r»<  ij(^  ivrZ  rof  oc.t  1.  e. 

Who  inliis  own  eonceni^s  not  wise, 
1  that  man's  wisdom  do  despise. 

Therefore,  sa^  Ennius,  Neqmd^uam  sopere  eapi- 
enUMj  qui  ipsi  sibi  prodesse  non  qmret  :t  i.  e.  Vain  is 
the  vdsdom  of  that  sage  who  cannot  profit  himself 
by  it. 

*  This  comparison  inay  be  found  at  the  end  of  Plutarch's  Treatise 
ef  Rearing ;  and  firami  thence  it  is,  no  doubt,  that  Montaigne  took  it, 
beoaose  he  expresses  it  afanost  in  the  very  words  of  Amyot's  inuia* 
iatioii. 

f  The  words  of  Euripides,  as  Cicero  teUs  us,  ep.  15,  toCflcaar, 
lib.  xiii.  , 

t  Cicero  de  Offic  lib.  iii.  a^  15. 


IJ^  orPBDAKTItr^ 


-5t  o^fAcMi 


Fun^t  ei  Eaganea  quantumtns  nnoUkr  aga&J^u  c« 
If  he  is  OQve^ouSj  a  liitf  j  or  e^mioate. 

Non  enim  paranda  nobis  solum j  s^i  frt/ienda  sapu 
fntia  est  :t  i  e.  For  wisdom  is  not  only  to  be  ac% 
^ire4,  but  eirjoye4* 

XKonysiuBt  laughed  »t  th^  grammarians,  who  were 
so  solicitous  to  know  what  were  the  miseries  which 
Ulysses  suffered,  and  do  not  know  their  own ;   at 
^musicians,  who  are  so  exact  in  tuning  their  instni« 
inents,  and  never  tune  their  manners^ ;  and  at  ora^ 
tors,  who  study  to  declare  what  is  justice,  but  not  ta 
perform  it.     If  our  mind  takes  so  wrong  a  bias,  and 
if  the  judgment  be  so  imsound,  I  should  have  liked  it 
liltogether  as  well,  if  my  scholar  had  spent  his  time 
lit  tennis,  for  then  the  oody  would  at  least  have  ac* 
quired  greater  agility.    Do  but  obswve  him  when  he 
is  come  from  school,  after  spending  fifteen  or  sixteei^ 
years  there ;  nothing  is  so  unfit  for  business.  All  that 
you  find  in  him  more  than  he  had  before  he  went 
thither,  is,  that  his  Latin  and  his  Greek  have  ren- 
dered him  only  a  greater  and  a  more  conceited  cox- 
comb tfian  he  was  when  he  wei^t  from  home.     He 
ought  to  have  returned  with  his  head  well  ftirnished,^ 
whereas  it  .is  Only  puffed  up,  and  inflated, 
fhe  duu        These  sparks,  as  Plato  says  of  the  sophists,  their 
7^teDdm  cousins-german,  are  of  all  men  those  who  proipise  to 
totearniiig.  bc  tlic  mpst  usefiil  to  their  fellow-creatures,  and  who 
alone,  of  all  men,  do  only  not  amend  what  is  com- 
mitted  to  them,  as  a  carpenter  and  a  mason  does, 
but  mak^  bad.  worse,  and  take  pay  for  it  to  boot.    It 
the  rule  which  Protagoras  proposed  to  his  pupils  wa$ 
followed,  either  that  (hey  should  give  him  his  own 

♦  Jtiv.  Sat  viii,  ver,  14, 15,  f  Cicero  de  Finib,  lib.  i.  cap.  1. 

%  In  ail  jthe  editions  of  Montaigne  wbich  I  have  aeeii^  witooul 
excepting  Mr.  Cotton's  translation,  Dionysius  is  mentioned;  jctthe 
vise  reflectioAs  irtiich  Montaigne  hero  ascribes  to  DioiiyMiia,,  were 
made  by  Diogenes  the  c^nic,  as  may  be  seen  in  that  pmlo8opher*s 
life  written  by  Diogenes  Vfaertius^  IRu  vi.  sect  27,  28. 


OF  FEOAimiT^  IS^ 

demand)  6r  take  an  oatii  in  the  temple, whatvduethe^ 
set  upon  the  advaht^^  they  had  received  from  this 
discipline,  and  satisfy  him  accordingly  for  his  trouble ; 
my  pedagogues  Would.be  horridly  frustrated,  espe* 
cia^  if  Siey  were  to  be  judged  by  the  testimony  of 
my  experience.  In  my  vulgar  Pericordin  language 
such  smatterers  in  learning  are  pleasanfly  called 
kttre-feHts^  as  if  one  should  say,  tiiey  were  letter- 
marked,  or  had  letters  stamped  on  them  by  the  strpke 
of  a  msJlet ;  and,  in  truth,  they  seem,  for  the  most 
part,  to  be  sunk  even  below  common  sense.  For 
you  see  the  peasant  and  the  cobler  go  simply  and 
honestly  in  their  own  way,  speaking  only  ot  what 
they  know  and  understand ;  whereas  these  fellows 
are  continually  perplexmg  and  entangling  themtselves^ 
in  order  to  make  a  parade  of  that  knowkdge,  which 
floats  onlv  oti  the  superficies  of  the  brain.  They  say 
^good  tntng  sometunes,  but  let  another  apdly  it« 
They  are  wonderfully  well  acquainted  with  Galen^ 
hut  not  at  all  with  the  disease  of  the  patient.  They 
have  stuped  your  ears  with  the  laws,  but  know 
nothing  of  the  n^erits  of  the  case :  they  have  the 
theory  of  ev&ry  thing,  but  you  must  seex  for  others 
to  put  it  in  practice.    . 

I  hfive  sate  bv  when  a  fiiend  of  mine,  at  my  ownchafttctcr 
house,  for  sport^s  sake,  hiis,  with  one  of  these  fellows,  p^^^ 
counterfeited  a  jargon  o£  unconnected  gibberish, 
patched  up  of  various  pieces,  without  head  or  tail, 
saving  that  he  interlarded  certain  terms,  here  and 
there,  which  were  peculiar  to  the  subject  of  their 
dispute ;  by  which  means  he  amused  the  blockhead 
in  debating  the  point>  from  morning  to  night,  who 
thought  he  had  always  fully  answered  every  objec- 
tion :  and  yet  this  was  a  man  of  letters  and  reputa- 
tion, and  had  a  fine  robe:  *" 

Fes  0  ^rictus  sanguis^  tjuos  vivere  fas  est 
Occipitt  coecOf  posiiae  OQCurrite  sa/tntt.*  u  e. 

Ye  nobles,  whom  flatterers  easily  blindj 
Be  guard^  against  a  scar  from  behind. 

♦  Pers.  Sat,  i.  ver.  61^  62. 


Whoever  narrowly  pries  into  this  kind  of  men^ 
whose  number  is  very  extensive,  will,  as  I  have  done, 
find  that,  for  the  most  part,  they  neither  understand 
themselves  nor  others,  and  that,  thouj^  th^  have 
strong  memories,  their  iudgment  is  v^  shallow, 
unless  where  nature  itself  has^  given,  them  another 
turn,  as  I  observed  in  Adrianus  Tumebus,  whp, 
thou^  he  never  made  other  profession  than  that  of 
leamii^  only,  in  which,  in  my  opinion,  he  was  the 
greatest  man  that  has  been  these  tnousand  years,  yet 
had  nothing  pedantic  about  him,  but  the  wear  of  his 
robe,  and  a  pertain  external  fashion  that  was  un- 
courtly,  which  are  things  of  no  moment ;  and  I  hate 
our  people  who  dislike  the  pedant  worse  than  his  im- 
pertinence, and  take  their  measure  of  a  man's  un-: 
derstanding  by  the  bow  he  mkkes,  his  very  gesture, 
and  even  by  his  boots.    For  within  this  outside  of 
his  there  was  not  a  more  illustrious  soul  up<Hi  earth. 
I  have  often,  fibr  the  purpose,  started  subjects  to  him 
to  which  he  was  quite  unaccustomed,  wherein  I 
found  he  had  so  clear  an  insight,  so  quick  an  appre- 
hension, and  so  solid  a  jud^ent,  mat  one  would 
have  thought  he  had  never  been  practised  in  any 
thing  but  arms,  and  affiurs  of  state.    These  endow- 
ments  of  nature  have  such  beauty  and  vigour : 


^Quibus  arte  benignij 


Et  melior  Tuto  fitrnt  pneeardia  TitmiJ^  u  e. 

The  sun  having  of  day  much  more  refin'd, 
With  greater  accuracy  form'd  their  mind : 

that  they  keep  their  ground  in  defiance  of  a  bad  edu- 
cation. .  But  it  is  not  enough  that  our  education  does 
not  spoil  us,  it  is  necessary  that  it  should  alter  us  for 
the  better. 
Know-         There  are  some  of  our  parliaments,  which,  when 
tl^S^TS^^^y  ^^  t^  admit  any  officers,  examine  only  into 
campanied  their  Icaming ;  others  also  add  the  trial  of  their  un- 
^^ ><«g-  derstanding,  by  asking  their  judgment  of  some  law- 
case.    The  latter  seem  to  me  to  proceed  in  the  best 

*  Jut.  Si^t.  xiY.  ver.  34>,  35 


OP  PBDANTRT*  16S 

Aiediod.  And  tfaou^  both  are  absolutely  necessary^ 
sagtd  it  is  requisite  that  they  should  be  defective  in 
neither,  yet,  in  tnifli,  ju^ptnent  is  to  be  preferred 
to  science,  the  former  of  which  may  make  unfi  with* 
out  the  latter,  but  not  ^e  latter  without  the  fonneo:: 
ibr,  as  the  Greek  verse  says, 

'£lq  iii¥  i    ftinTiC  11V  fAn  tfif  xetfn*  i*  6« 
Learning  is  uselM,  without  wit  and  sense. 

Would  to  God  that,  for.  the  sake  of  justice,  our 
courts  of  judicature  were  as  well  furnished  with  uii« 
derstanding  and  conscience  as  they  are  with  know- 
ledge. Aon  vita  sedschola^  dicimusy  says  Seneca  ;* 
we  do  not  study  to  live,  but  to  dispute.  Now  learn- 
ing  is  not  to  be  made  a  mere  appendix  to  the  mind, 
but  to  be  incorporated  with  it :  it  must  not  only  be 
tinctured  with  it,  but  thoroughly  dyed ;  and  if  it  does 
not  change  and  meliorate  its  imperfect  state,  it  were^ 
without  question,  better  to  let  it  alone: 

*    A  little  learning  is  a  dangeroos  thing, 
Prink  deep,  or  taste  not  the  Pierian  spring : 
For  shallow  draughts  intoxicate  the  brain, 
Bnt  drinlcing  deeply  sobers  us  again.         f  i  ^ .  . 

It  is  a  dangerous  weapon,  and  if  in  weak  hands  that 
know  not  how  to  use  it,  it  will  embarrass  and  hurt 
its  master,  Utjuerit  melius  nan  didicissei\  so  that  it 
would  have  been  better  not  to  have  learned  at  alL 
This  perhaps  is  the  cause,  that  neither  we  nor  divi- 
vxtj  require  miich  learning  in  women ;   and  that 
Francis,  duke  of  Brittany,  son  of  John  V.  when,  in 
talking  of  his  marriage  with  Isabel,  the  daughter  of 
Scotland,  he  was  told,  that  she  was  homely  bred, 
and  without  any  manner  of  learning,  he  made  an* 
swer,  ^*  that  he  liked  her  the  better  for  it  j  and  / 
"  that  a  woman  was  learned  enough,  if  she  could  V        '^* 
^  distinguish  between  her  husband's  shirt  and  his    \ 
-^doublet'*  ^ 

*  £p.  106,  in  fine.  f  Cicero  Tnsc Quest.  lib.iL  cap.  4. 


156  Ot  PEDANIHr. 

yrheiher  It  IS  therefore  no  such  grc4t  wondier,  as  they  make 
«^Tu"f ly*^  of  it,  that  our  ancestors  h*ld  learning  in  no  great 
»ecessar>.  estccm^  and  that,  even  to  this  day^  it  is  but  seldoiii 
to  bfe  met  with  in  the  privy  councils  of  our  kings  j 
and  were  it  not  for  enriching  ourselves  (which  is  the 
only  thing  we  propose  now  a-days,  by  the  meaos  of 
law,  physic,  pedantry,  and  even  divinity  itself),  you 
would  no  doubt  see  it  in  as  despicable  a  state  as  ever. 
What  pity  then  would  it  be  it  it  neither  instructed 
us  to  think  well,  nor  to  do  well  ?    Postquam  docti 

iirodieruntj  boni  desinunt.^    Since  the  appearance  of 
earned  men,   good  men  are  become  scarce-     All 
other  knowledge  is  detrimental  to  him  who  has  not 
the  science  of  becoming  a  good  man. 
Every  kfnd     But  may  uot  the  reason  1  touched  upon  just  now 
■or^ap"  **  ^so  proceed  from  hence,  that  our  study  in  France 
kie  of  ^-  having,  as  it  were,  no  other  view  but  profit,  few  of 
wtu^bl   those  who  are  formed  by  nature  for  omces  rather  of 
leurniiig.    (iignity  than  gain,  apply  themselves  to  learning,  or 
for  so  little  a  while  (being  taken  from  their  studies 
before  they  have  had  a  reHsh  for  them,  to  some  pro- 
fession which  has  nothing  to  do  with  books),  tnat^ 
generally  speaking,  there  are  none  left  to  apply  them- 
selves wnoUy  to  study  but  people  of  mean  education, 
who  only  study  learning  for  a  livelihood.     And  the 
minds  of  such  people,  being  by  nature,  and  domestic 
education  and  example,  of  the  basest  alloy,  make  a 
wrong  use  of  learning.     For  it  is  not  for  knowledge 
to  furnish  light  to  a  dark  soul,  nor  to  make  a  bhnd 
man  see.     Its  business  is  not  to  find  a  man  eyes,  but 
to  clear  them,  and  to  regulate  a  man's  steps,  pro- 
vided he  have  good  feet  and  legs  of  his  own.     Know- 
ledge is  an  excellent  drug,  but  no  drug  has  virtue 
enough  to  preserve  itself  from  corruption  and  decay, 
»  if  the  vessel  into  which  it  is  put  be  not  sound  and 
.  sweet.     A  man  may  have  a  clear  sight  who  looks 
a-squint,  and  consequently  sees  what  is  good,  but 
does  not  follow  it,  and  sees  knowledge,  but  makes 

•  Seneca,  Epist  95. 


OP  PEDANTRY*  157 

no  use  of  it  Hate's  principal  institution  in  his  re- 
public, is  to  fit  his  subjects  with  employments  suit- 
able to  their  nature.  Nature  can  do  eveiy  tiling, 
and  does  every  thing.  Cripples  are  not  fit  for  exer- 
cises of  the  body,  nor  weak  understandings  for  those 
of  the  mind,  rhilosophy  is  too  sublime  for  dege- 
nerate and  vulgar  minds.  When  we  see  a  shoe- 
maker ill  shod,  we  say  it  is  no  wonder.  Thu;^,  it 
seems,  we  often  find,  by  experience,  a  physician 
worse  doctored,  a  divine  worse  reformed,  and  con- 
sequently a  scholar  of  less  sufficiency  than  other 
men.  Aristo  of  Chios  had  ancienliy  reason  to  say,^ 
that  philosophers  did  their  auditors  more  harm  than 
good,  because  most  of  them  are  not  capable  of  re^ 
ceiving  benefit  by  such  instructions,  on  which  they 
were  too  apt  to  put  a  bad  interpretation ;  so  that 
«4rfirr«f,  ejT  AHstippij  acerbosex  Zenonis  schola  ejcire:^ 
I.  e.  That  the^  went  away  debauchees  from  the 
school  of  Aristippus,  and  sour  churls  from  that  of 
Zeno. 

In   that  excellent  institution  which    XenophonThePeiw 
ascribes  to  the  Persians,  we  find,  that  they  taught  J^JgJJJJ^ 
their  children  virtue,  as  other  nations  instruct  them  rm  a  vir- 
in  letters.    Plato  says,t  that  the  eldest  son  in  the|"^°^oflI 
rojral  succession  was  thus  tutored.     As  soon  as  he  i^^i-Md 
was  bom,  he  was  delivered,  not  to  women,  but  to  ***'"^***^ 
the  eunuchs  of  the  greatest  authority  about  their 
kings  fi>r  their  virtue,  whose  charge  it  was  to  keep 
his  body  in  health  and  good  plight,  and  after  he 
came  to  seven  ^ears  of  age,  to  teach  him  to  ride, 
and  to  go  a  hunting.     When  he  attained  to  fourteen, 
they  transferred  him  into  the  hands  of  four    the 
wisest,  the  most  just,  the  most  temperate,  and  the 
most  valiant  men  of  the  nation.    The  first  instructed 
him  in  religion,  the  second  taught  him  to  be  always 
honest,  the  third  to  be  the  master  of  his  appetites, 
and  the  fourth  to  despise  all  danger. 

*  Cic  de  Nat  Deor.  lib.  iii.  cap.  91.  j*  Ibidt 

|:  In  the  first  Alcibiadesy  p.  32: 


The  Lace.      It  is  a  thing  worthj  of  very  great  cotAdentioitf 
J^"^^  that  in  that  excellent,  and,  in  truth,  for  its  perfect 
»p  to  every  tioH,  prodlgious  form  of  civil  r^men,  proposed  by 
liu^ue.  I'ycutgaaf  though  solicitous  of   the  education  of 
'  children,  as  a  thing  of  the  greatest  concern,  and  even 
in  the  very  seat  of  the  muses,  be  should  make  to 
little  mention  of  learning,  as  if  their^nerous  youth, 
disdaining  any  other  voke  but  that  ofvirttae,  oi^ht  to 
be  furnished  only  with  such  masters  as  should  instruct 
in  valour,  prudence,  and   iustice,  instead  of  being 
put  under  our  masters  of  the  sciences ;  an  example 
which  Plato  has  followed  in  his  laws.    The  form  ctf 
their  discipline  was,  to  propound  questions  to  them 
upon  the  judgment  of  men  and  their  actions ;  and 
if^  they  cpmmended  or  condemned  either  this  or  that 
person  or  &ct,  they  were  obliged  to  give  their  reason 
for  so  doing ;  by  which  means  they  at  once  sharpened 
their  understanding,  and  became  skilful  in  the  law^ 
Astyages  in  Xenopnon,*  having  demanded  of  Cyrus 
an  account  of  his  last  lesson,  he  made  this  answer,  viz.  * 
^  A  tall  boy  in  our  school,  having  a  cassock  too  short, 
^^  took  another  by  force,  from  one  of  his  companions 
*^  who  was  not  so  tall,  and  gave  hifn  his  own  in  ex- 
^^  change.    Our  master  having  made  me  judge  of 
^  this  dispute,  I  thought  it  best  for  both  of  them  to 
^^keep  the  cassock  he  then  had,  for  that  each  of 
^  them  was  better  accommodated  with  the  other's 
^  cassock  than  with  his  own.    But  my  master  told  me 
^  I  had  given  wrong  judgment ;  for  I  had  only  con- 
^^  sidered  the  fitness  of  the  garments,  whereas  I 
^^  ought  principally  to  have  had  regard  to. strict  jus« 
^  tice,  wnich  requires  that  no  one  should  be  deprived 
**  of  his  property  by  force."    And  young  Cyrus  ad- 
ded,  that  he  was  lashed  for  it,  as  we  are  in  our  vil- 
lages, for  forgetting  the  first  aorist  of  rwrru\    My 
pedagogue  must  make  me  a  fine  oration,  in  genere 
^emonstrativo^  before  he  can  persuade  me  that  his 
school  is  as  good  as  that    They  chose  to  shortea 

*  Xenophon's  Cyropsedia^  lib.  ucap,  3,  sect.  14r 


the  way,  and  forasnmcb  as  the  sciences,  when  they 
are  rightly  pursued  and  applied,  cannot  but  teach  us 
pnidenee,  ndelity,  and  resolution,  they  thought  fit  to 
imtiKCe  their  chihken  in  the  knowledge  of  the  effects, 
and  to  instruct  them,  not  b^  hearsay,  but  by  the 
proof  of  the  action,  in  vigorously  ibrming  and 
moulding  them  not  only  by  words  and  precepts,  but  . 
chiefly  by  works  and  examples,  to  the  end  that  it 
might  not  onl3r  be  a  knowledge  of  the  mind,  but  be- 
come constitutional  and  habitual,  and  not  barely  an 
acquisition,  but  a  natural  possession.  Agesilaus,  being 
asked  ibr  the  purpose,  ^*  What  he  thought  most  pro- 
"  per  for  boys  to  learn  ?"  replied,  "  What  they 
•*  ought  to  do  when  thejr  come  to  be  men/'  No 
wondefr  if  such  an  institution  produced  such  admiral 
ble  effects. 

It  is  said,  they  used  to  go  to  the  other  cities  of't^  (iiftr* 
Greece,  in  quest  of  rhetoricians,  painters,  and  musi-  HJee^e 
cians ;    but  to  Lacedaemon  for  legislators,    m^s-  •■•w^tiofl 
trates,    and  generals  of  armies;    at  Athens  theyfhUdM^ 
learned  to  speak  well ;  at  Lacedsemon  to  act  well ;  ®^|[JJJf^ 
at  Athens  to  ^et  clear  out  of  a  sophistical  argument,  juUnf. 
and  to  unravel  ensnaring  syllogisms ;  at  Lacedaemon 
to  escape  the  baits  of  pleasure,  and  with  a  noble 
courage  to  withstand  the  menaces  of  fortune  and 
death.     Tlie  Athenians  cudgelled  their  brains  about 
words,  the  Lacedaemonians  about  things ;  at  Athens 
there  was  an  eternal  babble  of  the  tongue,  at  Lace- 
daemon a  continual  exercise  of  the  mind :  therefore 
it  is  no  wonder,  that,  when  Antipater  demanded 
fifty  of  their  children  for  hostages,  they  made  an- 
swer, quite  contrary  to  what  we  should  do,  that  they 
would  rather  give  him  twice  the  number  of  full 
grown  men,  such  a  value  did  they  set  upon  their 
children's  domestic  education.*     When  Agesilaus 
courted  Xenophon  to  send  his  children  to  be  bred  pp 
at  Sparta,  it  was  not  that  they  should  learn  rhetoric 
there  or  logic,  but  to  be  instructed,  he  said,  in  the 

•  ■  *  Flviarch  in  the  notable  sayings  of  the  Lacedemonians. 


160  ttvsDAmur^ 

noblest  Df  all  sciences^  viz.  how  to  obey,  and  how  tx^ 

commancl.* 

H«w8fo.       It  is  pleasant  to  see  Socrates,  after  his  manner, 

2)!!!ra^  rallying  Hippias,  when  he  tells  him  what  a  sum  ot 

vMti  who  money  he  had  got  by  teaching  school,  especially  in 

thinf^lc"^  certain  little  viflages  of  Sic^y,  bat  that  at  Sparta  he 

^^^'^     did  not  get  one  penny.  What  idiots  are  they,^d  So- 

crate8,t  who  know  nothing  of  mensuration  nor  nu« 

meration,  and  make  no  account  either  of  grammar 

or  poetry,  and  onlj^  amuse  themselves  in  studying 

the  succession  of  kings,  the  settlement  and  declen^ 

sion  of  states,  and  the  like  kind  of  stuff  !t  And, 

after  all,  Socrates  having  made  him,  from  one  stq>  to 

another,  acknowledge  the  excellency  of  their  form 

of  public  administration,  and  the  felicity  and  virtue 

of  their  private  life,  leaves  him  to  guess  what  in« 

ference  he  draws  from  the  inutility  of  his  pedantic 

arts. 

Thetd.        Examples  have  taug^ht  us,  that  in  military  aflUrs^ 

Jjj^«p  and  all  others  of  that  kind,  the  study  of  the  sciences 

damp  and  enervates  the  courage  of  men  rather  thaa 

auickens  and  rouses  it.  The  most  potent  empire^ 
iat  appears  to  be  at  this  day  in  the  whole  world,  is 
that  or  the  Turks,  a  people  who  have  a  ^reat  esteeoi 
for  arms,  and  as  hearty  a  contempt  for  hterature.  I 
find  that  Rome  was  more  valiant  before  she  grew  so 
learned.  The  most  waxlike  nations  in  our  days  are 
the  most  stupid,  and  the  most  ignorant ;  of  which 
the  Scythians,  Parthians,  and  the  great  Tamerlane, 
may  serve  as  a  proof.  When  the  Goths  ravaged 
Greece,  the  only  thing  that  preserved  all  the  libraries 
from  being  burnt,  was  an  opinion  which  one  of  their 
body  possessed  them  with,  that  it  was  absolutely  the 
best  way  to  leave  all  that  furniture  entire  in  the 
enemy's  hands,  as  it  would  tend  to  divert  them  fipm 
the  exercise  of  arms,  and  incline  them  to  a  lazy  and 
sedentary  life.    When  our  Hiqg,  Charles  VIII.  as  it 

*  Plutarch  in  the  Life  of  Agesilaus,  cap.  Y. 

t  Plato's  Hippiag  Major>  p.  9G«  %  Id«m.  p.  Vfi 


Of  THfi  fiDUCAttO^  OF  CfilLDREH*  161 

"Were  without  drawing  his  swoid,  saw  hiibself  pos«^ 
sessed  of  the  kingdom  of  Naples,  and  of  a  great  part 
of  Tuscany,  the  nobility  abcmt  him  attributed  this 
uneicpected  facility -of  conquest  to  this,  that  thi^ 
princes  and  nobles  of  Italy  studied  more  to  render 
themselves  ingextious  and  learned,  than  vigorous  and 
warlike. 


^9^ 


I 


CHAPTER  XXV* 

Of  the  Edueatian  of  Childrem 

To  Madame  Diana  de  Foix,  Cauniesi  deGursoiu    . 

NiEVER  yet  saw  that  fathfer  ivhb  would  not  owli  wimt  wii 
his  son,  were  he  ever  so  crooked  or  scabby ;  not  that  ^^^^ 
he  is  insensible  of  his  defects,  unless  he  be  altogether  uig^T 
intoxicated  with  affection,  but  still  he  is  his  child.  H^Tillh 
So,  for  my  own  part,  I  perceive  more  dearly  than  lueratufc* 
anjr  body,  that  these  Essays  of  mine  are  but  the  idle 
wmmsies  of  a  man  who  only  nibbled  on  the  outward 
rind  of  the  sciences  in  his  nonage,  and  has  only  re* 
tained  a  vague  and  imperfect  idea  of  them,  a  little 
smatch  of  every  thing,  and  nothing  thoroughly  i  la 
mode  de  Frangoise.    For  I  know^  in  general,  that 
there  is  such  a  science  as  physic,  a  knowledge  in  the 
laws,  four  parts  Or  branches  of  the  mathematics,  and 
have  a  gross  idea  of  what  all  these  aim  at.    Perhaps 
too,  I  InioW  what  the  sciences  contribute  to  that  be* 
nefit  of  human  life ;  but  to  dive  farther  than  that, 
and  to  have  bit  my  nails  in  the  study  of  Aristotle,  the 
monarch  of  all  modern  learning,  or  to  have  bent  my 
study  entirely  to  any  one  science^  is  what  I  never 
did,  nor  is  there  any  one  art,  of  which  I  can  so  much 
as  draw  the  first  lineaments ;  insomuch  that  there  is 
not  a  school-boy  of  the  lower  classes,  but  may  pre- 
sume to  say  he  is  a  better  scholar  than  I  am,'  who 
havje  not  ability  sufficient  to  examine  him  in  his  first 
vox..  !•  J^ 


t09  OF  THE  E0W;a«oi? 

Je89on :  «fiA  ^  I  am  at  uny  time  forced  upmi  it,  I 
conatnuQ^  to  put  some  general  questions  to  him, 
.^eidQ.froia  <lie  pcHUt,  upon  which  1  try  his  natural 
judgment^  a  lesson  a9  inuch  unkfiQwn  to  him^.as.  his 
is  to  me. 
iPhitorch  .  ,  I  .have  not  settled  a  ccKrespondence. with  any 
JjJff^Jr- books  of  solid  learning  but  Plutarch  and  .Seneca; 
itebooksof  and  from  them,  like  the  Danaides,  I  am  continually 
**^^*^*' filling  and  pouring  out  j  so  that  what  I  endeavour  to 
make  my  own,  is  next  a-^kin  to  nothing.     History  is 
my  favourite  subject,  or  else  ooetry,  which  I  am 
particularly  fond  of:  fer,*as  Cteanthes  said,  in  the 
same  manner  as  the  voice  strained  throi^  the  nar- 
row passage  of  a  trumpet  comes*  out  sl^onger  and 
shriller,  just  so,  metjiinks,  a  sentence  enforced  by 
the  numerous  measures  of  poetry,   is  much  more 
stalking  both  to  my  ear  and  apprehension^     As  to 
the  natural  parts  I  wve,  of  which  this  is  a  specimen, 
,  J  find  them  to  bow  under  the  burden  :.  my  fancy  and 
judgpifent  do  but  grope  in  thedark^  staggering,  trip- 

ping)  ^^d  stumblii^;  and  when  I  have  gone  as  ur 

.as  I  can,  I  am  by  no  means  satisfied ;  I  see  nxMre 

land  still  be&re  me,  but  so  wrapped  in  clouds,  that 

jsay  dim  jsi^t  cannot  distipguish  what  it  is.    And  as 

.1  take  upon  me  to  treat  indifferently  of  whatever 

eomes  intp  my  head,  and  therein  trust  entirely  to 

|ny  own  natural  talents,  if  I  happen,  as  I  often  do, 

to  find  in  good  authc^^  those  very  topics  which  I  have 

attempted  to  write  uBon  (as  I  did  very  lately  in  Plu- 

.tarch-8  Discourse  of  me  Strength  of  ImaginadoQ),  to 

.see  myself  so.  weak  ^d  iqsipid,  so  dull  and  sleepy  in 

comparison  of  thosie  writers,  I  either  pity  or  despise 

Tmyself.    Yet  it  is  some  pleasure  to .  me  to  find  that 

my^ppinions  l\ave  frequently  the  honour  to  taUy  with 

theirs,  and  that  I  follow  in  the  same  track,  though 

at  a  OTeat  distance;  saying  that  diey  are  in  ther^t; 

.and  I  have  tliyfs  gAwlity,  which  every  pne  cannot  boast 

.0^  c^.  knpwipg  the  mde  diiSerejice  between  them 

<aQd  me/   N/evertheless,  I  give  vent  to  my  own.SiW- 

^timents,  wepk  «n4  flat  as  they,  u^  wititout  confict- 


ing  or  supplying  tbeir  faults  and  defectsy  Irhich  I 
bave  discovered  by  thi»  comparkcm« 

A  man  had  need  have  agood  strong bacfc,  to  keep  Modem 
pace  with  these  people.  The  indiscreet  scribWers  ot^^^'J^I^"^ 
our  age,  who  fbitt  into  their  worthless  productioits  poverty  of 
whole  paragraphs  from  the  ancient  authors,  to  give  ?y' p^^g!* 
thc»as^ves  a  r^utatiotl,  act  in  a  quite  contrary  sDan<-iDK  the  aa- 
tier;  for  the  innnite  dissimilitiide  of  ornaments  ren*^^^'^^' 
der  the  complexion  of  their  own  compositions  so 
pale^  sallow,  and  deformed,  that  they  lose  muck 
more  than  the^  g»n  by  it«  The  philosophers  Chryw 
appus  and  Epicurus  were  itl  this  respect  of  quite  op» 
posite  humours  ^  Chrysippus  not  only  mixed  passages 
out  of  oth^r  authors  in  his  books,  but  entire  pieces  ; 
and  in  one^  the  whole  Medea  of  Euripides ;  which 
gave  Apollodorus  occasion  to  say,*  that  were  a  man 
to  pick  out  of  his  writings  all  that  he  had  stolen  £rom 
others,  his  paper  would  be  a  mere  blank.  Epicurus^t 
on  the  contrary,  in  SOd  volumes  that  he  has  left  be- 
hind  him,  has  not  so  much  as  one  quotation.  I  hw- 
pened  the  other  day  to  light  upon  a  French  book,'  m 
which,  after  I  had  been  dragged  a  good  while  overa 
number  of  words,  soKfeless,  so  bald,  and  so  void  of 
all  substance  and  meaning,  that,  in  truth,  they  were 
only  French  words ;  after  a  long  and  tedious  travel, 
I  met  at  last  with  a  piece  that  was  rich,  suMime,  and 
elevated  to  the  very  clouds,  of  which,  had  I  foun4 
the  declivity  easy,  or  the  ascent  a  little  more  acCessi* 
ble,  it  had  been  excusable :  but  it  was  so  steeps  a  pre* 
cipice,  and  so  detached  from  the  rest  of  the  work, 
that,  by  the  six  &st  words,  I  found  myself  ilyine 
into  the  other  world,  and,  from  thence,  discovered 
the  bog,  from  whence  I  came,  so  deep  and  low,  that 
I  had  not  the  heart  to  descend  down  to  it  ai^  more. 
If  I  were  to  stuff  one  of  my  discourses  with  such 
ridi  moils  as  these,  it  would  only  the  more  expose 
the  n^edness  of  ^e  others.  To  find  fiiult  with  othen 

*  Diogenes  Laertius,  in  ilie  Life  of  Cfapipp^,  lib.  tiL  s«€j(» 

t  Idem,  b  tiie  Life  of  E^kwufli.  life  Xr  isct.  fll^ 

m2 


IM  OF  TH£  EDUCATION 

f^r  what  I  am  guilty  of  myself,  appears  to  me  bit 
mpre  inconsistent. than  to  condemn,  as  I  often  do,^ 
.  th94^«ults  of  others  in  myself.    They  are  to  be  ever 
reproved,  apd  ought  to  have  no  sanctuary  allowed- 
theiQ.;.ye.t  I  know  how.  confidently  I  myself  make, 
bold  at^very  turn,  to  set  my  style  on  a  level  with  what 
I  steal  from  other  authors,  ai^d  to  make  it  keep  pace 
with  tjhem,  npt  without  the  rash  presumption,  that  I 
shalj  be  able  so  to  impose  on  the  jud^ent  of  my, 
"  readers^*  and  that  they  will  not  be  able  to  discern  the 
difiere;i)ce ;  but  this  is  as  much  owing  to  my  applica^ 
tion,  as  to  my  invention  and  capaci^.    Be^des,  I 
dp  R9t  wrestle  with  Uie  whole  body  of  those  veteran^ 
herpes,  nor  with  any  pne  of  them  singly ;  it  is  only 
by  gentle  ^skirmishes  that  I  engage  them.    I  am  not: 
dipgbiatical  but  by  their  mettle,  and  do  not  ensaffe 
so  far  as  I  make  a  show  of  doing :  yet  if  I  could  hold 
thepi  taCk  I  were  a  brave  fellow ;  fin*  I  never  assault 
them  on  the  weakest  side.    For  ,a  man  to  cover  him- 
self  (as  I  have  seen  some  do)  with  another's  armour, 
SQ  as  not  to  let  his  fingers'  ends  be  seen ;  to  carry  on 
his  design  (as  it  is  easy  for  scholars  to  do  in  a  com- 
mon aflair)  under  old.  inventions  patched  up,  and 
then  endeavour  to  concesU  the  p^igiarism,  and  to, 
make  it  pass  for  his  own,  is  in  the  first  place  mjustice 
and  meanness  of  spirit  in  such  men,  who,  having  no- 
thi.ng;of  yalue  of  their  own  to  recommend  them,  seek 
ta  graft  a  reputation  entirely  upon  the  stpck  pf  others^ 
In  the  next  place,  it  is  ridiculous  folly  to  content 
themselves  witii  the  ignorant  approbation  of  the  vul? 
gar,  by  such  a  pitiful  fraud,  and  be  disparaged  by 
men  of  understanding,  the  only  persons  whose  praise 
is  of  any  credit,  who  snuff  with  disdain  at  such  bor- 
rowed patch-work.    For  my  own  part,  there  is  no- 
thing I  would  not  rather  do  than  that.  I  only  speak  of 
otherii  that  I  may  more  expressly  speak  of  myself,  and 
be  informed  what  conduct  I  oii^t.  to  pursue.in  this 

*•  What  Montaigne  here  says'of'hiinsblf  is  strictly  true ;  of  which 
a  proof  may  be  seen  in  the  twenty-first  chapter  of  thb  first  book;; 
and»  upon  occmipni  I  have  ghresr  others  as  palpable. , 


^    bFCRILDBEK.  165 

point ;  neither  do  I  hereT)y  in  the  least  dance  at  the 
professed  composers  of  centos,*  of  which  I  have 
seen  some  whd  were  very  ingenious ;  particularly  one 
of  the  name  of  Capilupusyt  besides  others  of  greater 
antiquity .t  These  are  wits,  who  manifest  themselves 
to  be  such,  both  b^that,  and  compositions  of  other 
kinds^  as  Lipsius,  m  that  learned  and  laborious  s^s^ 
tern  q(  his  pmitics.    ^ 

Be  this  as  it  will,  and  how  trifling  soever  these  Es^  tv  Jn^g^ 
8^  famine  are,  I  will  frankly  own  I  never  thought  J^iJl^J^ 
of  concealing  them,  any  more  than  my  bald  grizzled  fonLorMi 
pate  before  them,  where  the  graver  has  presented  ^•'*^ 
you  not  with  a  true,  fiice,  but  the  resemblance  df 
mine.    For  these  also  are  but  my  owii  paHiicular  hu« 
mours,  and  opinions ;  and  I  deliver  them  as  no  other 
^an  what  I  myself  believe^  and  not  for  what  ought 
to  be  bdieved  by  odiers.    I  have  no  aim  in  uiis 
writing,  but  to  lay  myself  open,  who  perhaps  shaQ 
be  of  another  mind  to-morrow,  if  I  am  altered  by 
fresh  instruction.    I  have  no  authority  to  be  believed^ 
neither  do  I  desire  it,  being  conscious  that  I  have 

*  This  isa  term  given  to  apiece  of  poetry  composed  of  versety  or 
the  ends  of  Terses,  taken  from  one  or  more  authors^  to  express  any 
ihing  but  the  very  thing  that  the  verses  signify  in  the  authors  from 
whence  they  have  been  borrowed. 

f  Lelius  Ci^>ilupus,  a  native  of  Mantua,  who  flourished  in  the 
sixteenth  century,  was  famous  for  compositions  of  this  kind,  as  may 
be  seen  under  his  name  in  Bayle's  Dictionary,  who  says  tliat  the 
.  /cento  which  he.  wrote  agunst  the  motiks,  is  inimitable ;  it  is  to  be 
found  at  the  end  of  the  Regnum  Papisticum  of-  Neogeorgas.  He 
wrote  one  sSso  against  the  women,  wnich  Mr.  Bayle  also  mentions 
•as  a  very  ingenious  piece,  bvet  toA  satirical.  It  was  inserted  in.  a 
oollection  entitled  Baudii  Amores,  printed  at  Leyden  m  1638.  This 
Ifclius  had  a  nephew  named  Julius  Copiiupus,  who  signalized«hiro- 
self  by  centos,  and  even  had  a  talent  for  it  superior  to  his  uncle,  if 
we  may.  believe  Pessevin.  Poet.  Select  lib.  17,  24.  But  let  Mon- 
taigne, Bayle,  and  Possevin,  sa^  what  they  will,  it  is  a  happiness 
for  learning  that  compeations  of  this  sort,  the  style  of  which  cannot 
)but  be  fuU  of  expressions,  hfursh,  improper,  and  dogmatical,  are 
neglected. 

.  t  As  the  centos  of  Ausoniiis,  composed  wholly  out  of  the  vevm 
irf  Virgil  . 


169  07  THE  EDOCATIOV 

out  been  instructed  w^  enw^  xay%e]£  to  teaA  m^ 
other.  , 

m  opi-      •  A  friend  of  tnine,  therefore*  hnyiiig  rend  the  fore« 
?t?nin(?°h«'8wng  chapter  the  other  day,,  told  me  at  my  owa 
rducatioD  house,  that  I  should  have  ealaiged  «  little  more  oa 
^^'^*"''"- the  education  of  children^  .  Now,  madam,  if  I  have 
a  talent  equal  to  jthe  taal(,  I  could  not  empk^  it  bet* 
ter  than  to  devote  it  to  the  little  gentleman,  who  ta 
like,  ere  loDja;,  to  ,be  the  /happy  iswe  of  your  body  ^ 
(joa  being  oftpo  good  blood  to  begin  ^^erwise  thaa  ' 
mth  It  m^S^).   Eor  having  had  90  great  a  band  in  you  ' 
marriage;  tr^ty,  I  have  a  certain  right  and  interest 
m  the  grandeur  and  prosperity  of  the  issue  that  sbaQ 
jqptring  iaom.it ;  besides  that  the  lon^  claim  you  have 
l^td  to  my  sendee,  sufficiently  obliged. me  to  wish 
honour  and  happiness  to  bJI  that  you  have  a  value 
for.    But,  in  truth,  what  I  mean  by  it  is  this ;  tliat 
the  thing  of  the  greatest  .difficulty  and  imj^rtance  to 
human  science,  is  the  nurture  and  education  of  chil- 
dren.   As  in  agriculture,,  the  methods  to 'be  taken 
before  planting  are,  as  well  as  the  planting  itself,  cer«* 
tain  and  easy,  but  after  that  which  is  planted  cornea 
to  take  root  and  shoot  up,  there  is  a.  great  deal  of 
trouble  and  difficulty  in  raising  it ;  so  it  is  with  the 
human  race.*    The  getting  erf  children  requires  n*'^ 
•great  industry ;  but  after  tney  bonif  then,  begins  the 
'  trouble,  anxiety,  and  care  of  tr^iining  and  bringing 
Jthem  up. 
The  ^emt       Thc  displav  of  their  inclinations  is  so  fiiint  and  so 
^^^^n^^jOb^^f^  at  this  tender  age,  and  what  they  seem  to 
the  first  acr  promise  is  SO  Uncertain  and  £allacious,  that  it  is  ex* 
chiwrei    treraely  difficult  to  form  any  solid  judgment  of  them^ 
yf^i  they  as  Cimon,  Themistpcles,  and  a  thousand  Others,  who 
iH^JliSier,  have  become  very  different  mw  from  what  people 

*  This,  which  teems  so  natiiMl  asentimeni,'  is  takati  from  one  of 
Plato's  Diaipgues,  entitled  H^es^,  w)iof«  a  ftther  applying  with 
his  son  to  Socrates^  to  consult  him  to  whom  he  shoula  put  his  90a 
for  education,  oisde  thcTv^ry  same  ranark  as  Mo&taigne  has  in  this 
place.  See  PlatQ  in  Theages,  p,  88,  pointed  a|  Frankfort,  4to,  460ik 


«x0e<*ted;    Cubs  ctf  beaY^^^ftfHl  piQif^  mikte  a 

fuU  di§bo¥eTy  of  thek  harttu^  inclinatumd?;  but  rneif^ 
as  soon  B!»  grown  tip,  applyikg  Aemsel^Bs  td  'certaiia  * 
usf^es,  of»tiiotfsr;*  and  laws,  easily  alter,  or  at  lesLSt 
dKgtiise,  theif  tesl  inclinafieils.  And  yet  it  is  diflU 
cult' to  force  natural  propiensity;  whence  it  comes  tof 
pass,  thit,  fbr  want  xn  having  cfabsen  die  riglit 
course,  a  nMn  often  takes  very  ^reat  pains,  and 
spends  grMf  fwft  of  his  lift^  in  training  up  children  to 
things  for  which  they  are  altotfedier  unfit;  In  this 
difficulty,  nevertheless^  I  am  ciearijr  of  opnnaoa,  that 
they  ought  to  be  initiated  in  the  hkt  and  most  pro^ 
ftabie  studies,  and  that  fitdbheedoOgfet  to  be^ett 
«o  those  i^gbt  ptesages  «id  progtfostictttioiis  which 
we  happen  to  conceive  of  idmo  in  their  tendev  yews, 
on  which  Pkto,  m  hh  R^fdilic,  sewns,  niethinl^ 
to  lay  too  moeh  stfesKS. 

As  for  learning,  it  is  c^rti^Iy,  madam^  a  great  or  what 
ornament,  and  a  qualiificatioil  of  woifderfhl  ^ervict^^^^^ 
especially  to  persons  raised  to  sudi  a  degree  c^  for-^ 
tune  as  your  ladyship.  But  it  has  not  its  proper  us0 
in  persons  of  mean  and  low  circiimstaitees,  it  being 
moreforwardto  assirt  iiitbecah-iying  on  of  war,  in  the 
government  of  people,  and  in  negotiating  aUiances 
with  a  foreign  pnnce  or  nation,  tmui  to  form  a  syllo«> 
psm  in  logic,  to  jplead  im  Appeal,  or  to  prescribe  a 
oose  of  phy!a<;.  wherefore,  madam,  beheving  you 
will  not  omit  this  so  necessary  an  article  in  the  educa- 
tion <^your  descendants,  as  you  yoursdf  have  tasted 
li^  sweets  of  it,  and  are  of  learned  extraction,  (for  we 
«lill  have  the  writings  cf  the  ancient  counts  de  Foix^ 
firomrf  whom  both  the  coont  your  husband  and  you  are 
descended;  and  M.  def  Caadale,  your  uncle,  every 
day  obl%es  the  world  with  others,  which  will  extend 
Ae  knowledge  <tf  this  quaEty  in  your  family  to  numy 
succeeding  ages),  I  ^loll,  upon  this  occa^on,  men- 
tion a  pairticiuar  fimcy  of  my  own,  ccmtrary  to  the 
common  practice,  and  this  i^  all  that  I  am  abfo 
to  contribute  for  your  ladyship's  service  in  this  par- 
ticular. 


tfiS  or  .THE  EDUCATIOK 

'?*  ""5?!f    The  charge  of  the  governor  you  shall  appomt  for 
cdncatioQ  JOUT  soHy  upoH  the  choice  oi  whom  the  success  of 
^p^^J{^»iiis  education  entirely  depends,  consists  of  several 
ofV^om-branches,  which  I  shall  not  touch  upon,  as  being  un- 
^^'        able  to  fUld  ari^  thing  valuable  to  them ;  and  as  to 
that  on  which  I  take  upon  me  to  grve  him  my  advice, 
he  may  follow  it  so  far,  and  no  fiuther,  than  he  thinks 
it  plausible  or  rationaL    For  a  boy  of  quality,  then, 
who  covets  learning  not  for  gain  (foriK)  mean  a  yiew 
as  that  is  unworthy  of  the  grace  and  &vour  c^  the 
Piuses,  besides  that  it  has  a  &reign  regard  and.  de- 
pendence), nor  so  much  for  the  profit  of  othcpas 
KT  his  own,  and  to  furnish  and  ennch  himiadf  within, 
having  rather  a  desire  to  turn  out  a  man  of  abilities 
than  a  mere  scholar^  I  would  advise  his  ^jends  to  he 
carefiil  of  choosing  him  a  tutor  who  is  a  man  pf  a 
good  head-piece,  rather  than  a  perfect  book-worm, 
though:  bow  judgment  and  learning  are  requisite, 
\       but  manners  and  understanding  rather  than. science ; 
.  \^     and  that  his  tutor  should  pei;form  this  office  in  a  new 
'    method. 
Thetatoror    The  custom  of  tutors  is,  to  be  continually  thup* 
to  Mkl?''*  dering  in  their  pupils'  ears,  a3  if  they  were  pouring 
him  f peftk  jnto  a  fuiiuel,  and  our  task  is  only  to  repeat  what  they 
^L^^dbave  said  to  us  before.     I  would  have  the  tutor  to 
SS^^fcSr  ^^""^^  *^8  fault,  and  that,   at  the  very  firdtj   he 
'  should,  according  to  the  capacity  of  the  lad  he  has 
to  manage,  begin  to  put  it  to  the  te$U  by  permitting 
his  pupil  himsehf  to  taste  things,  and  to  choose  anddis* 
tinguish  them,  sometimes  opening  the  way  for  him, 
'    and  sometimes  not.    What  I  mean.is,  that  he  should 
^  not  invent  and  speak  all  himself,  but  tlmt  he  ^ould 
ako  hear  his  pupil  speak  in  turn.    !!$ocrates,  and  af« 
terwards  Arcesilaus,  made  their  scholars,  speak  first, 
and  then  they  spoke  to  them ;  Obest  plerumque  m 
-qui  discere  voluntj  authoritas  eorum  qui  docent:^ 
'**  The  authority  of  diose  who  teach^  is  very  often  a 
^(  detriment  to  those  who  desire  to  learn.''    It  is  pro^ 

*  Cic.  de  Nat*  Deprunii  Hb.  L  cap.  5« 


*    OF  CHILDBE9.  169 

per  that  he  should  put  him  upon  a  trot,  like  a  youiig 
Aorse,  before  him,  that  he  may  judge  of  his  capacity, 
and  how  much  he  is  to  abate  of  his  own  pace,  to  ac- 
commodate himsetf  to  that  of  the  other.  For  want 
of  this  due  proportion  we  spoil  all ;  and  to  Imow 
how  to 'choose,  and  to  keep  within  the  exact  xheo- 
gure,  IS  one  of  the  hardert  tasks  that  I  know.  A 
man  of  a  sublime  genius,  and  strong  parts,  knows 
liow,  and  when  to  form,  indulge,  or  condescend  to 
these  puerile  motions,  and  to  guide  them.  I  walk 
firmer  and  more  secure  up  hill  than  down ;  and  such 
as,  according  to  our  common  way  of  teaching,  un* 
dertake  with  one  and  the  same  lesson,  and  the  same 
method  of  instruction,  to  manage  sevieral  geniuses 
of  such  di^ent, sizes  and.  capacities,  no  wonder  if 
in  a  multitude  of  children  there  ane  scarce  two  or 
three  to  be  met  with,  who  are  the  better  for  their 
discipline.  The  tutor  should  not  only  examine  him 
as  to  the  words  of  his  lesson,  but  as  to  their  meaning 
and  import ;  and  should  judge  of  the  improvement 
he  has  made  in  his  learning,  not  by  the  testimony  of 
his  memory,  but  by  that  of  his*  conduct.  Let  him 
exhibit  his  lesson  in  a  hundred  views,  and  accommo- 
date it  to. as  many  different  subjects,  in  order  to 
sefe  if  he  yet  rightly  comprehend  it,  and  is  master  of 
it,  forming  his. progress  by  the  model  of  those  ad- 
mirable institutions  in  the  Dialogues  of  Plato.  It  is 
a  sign  of  crudity  and  indigestion  to  disgorge  any 
thing  in  the  same  form  it  was  swallowed ;  and  the 
stomach  has  not  performed  its  office,  if  it  has  not  al- 
tered the  figure  and  ^hape  of  what  was  committed  to 
it  for  concoction.  So  our  minds  take  things  upon 
trust,  while  they  are  constrained  to  follow  other 
men's  fancies.  We  have  been  so  subjected  to  the 
trammel,  that  we  have  no  free  pace  of  our  own ; 
our  vigour  and  liberty  are  extinct,  Nunquam  tuteUt 
Muajiunt  r*.  "  They  are  ever  in  wardship,  and  never 
f^  eigoy  their  own."    I  had  a  private  interview  at 

♦  Senec.  Ep.  33. 


170  OF  TfiE  EDUCATION 

Pin  with  aniionekt  man,  but  so  grait  an  Aristotefisn; 
that  his  general  thesis  was,  ^'  That  die  toncfastonci 
^  and  stajidard  of  all  solid  imaginations,  and  of  all 
^truths,  was  their  coi^innity  to  the  doctrine  of 
^  Aristotle ;  that  all  blesides  was  vain  and  chimeric 
^cal;  for  that  he  had  seen  all,  andsaid  afl."  This 
position,  by  being  interpreted  in  too  free  and  ii^uri^ 
ous  a  sense,  brought  and  kept  him  a  long  time  in  great 
danger  of  the  inquisition  at  Rome,  liet  the  tutor 
make  his  pupil  thoroughly  sift  every  tinng  he  reads, 
and  lodge  nothing  in  ms  fancy  upon  mere  «ithority«. 
Let  the  principles  of  Aristotle  be  no  more  prindplea 
to  him  than  those  of  die  Stoics  or  Epicureans,  only 
let  this  diversity  of  opinions  be  laid  nefore  him ;  he 
win  himself  choose  if  he  be  aUt,  if  not,  he  will 
lenain  in  doubt : 

Che  non  menche  saper  dubiar  m*aggradaJ^  i.  e. 
There  is  sometimes  a  merit  in  doubting,  as  well  as  in  kxiowlng. 

For  if  he  embrace  the  opinions  of  Xenophon  and 
Plato,  by  his  own  discourse,  they  will  be  hd  longer 
theirs,  but  his.  He  that  foUowa  another,  fiiHowi 
nothing,  finds  nothing,  nay  does  not  seek  for  any 
thing.  Non  sumus  wb  rege^  siln  qmsque  se  vindU 
C€t .?  ^  We  are  not  und^  kingly  ffovwmnent,  let 
^  every  man  be  at  his  own  dis^iolsu/'  Let  him  at 
least  know  that  he  knows.  '  It  wiH  be  neeeasary  that 
he  imbibe  their  juices,  but  not  that  he  would  learn 
their  maxims;  and  no  matter  if  he  forget  from 
whence  he  derived  them,  provided  he  knows  how  to 
appropriate  them  to  his  own  use.  Truth  and  reason 
are  common  to  all  men,  and  are  no  more  his  who 
first  declared  them,  than  his  who  declared  them 
afterward.  It  is  no  more  according  to  Plato  than 
according  to  me,  since  both  he  and  I  understand  and 
perceive  in  the  same  manner*  Bees  suck  theikiwers 
here  and  there  where  they  find  them,  but  make  their 
honey  afterwards,  which  is  all  and  purdy  their  own^ 

*  Dante  inferno.  Canto  11^  ren  9S«  i  Seneca,  £p.  38. 


tend  no  loo^r  thyme  and  marjomn.  So  wilt  the  poi* 
pU  transform  and  blend  the  several  fir^fi^ents  he  bor* 
rowed  from  others,  in  order  to  compUe  a  work  that 
ahall  be  altogether  his  own  ;  that  is  to  say^  his  judgw 
meot,  hts  instruction,  his  labour,  and  study  are  to  be 
whoUy  employed  in  forming  such  a  work.  He  is 
not  obUged  to  discover  the  sources  from  whence  he 
had  the  least  assistance,  but  only  to  produce  what 
lie -himself  has  composed.  Men  that  live  upon  pilr 
lage  and  mortgages,  make  a  show  of  their  buildings, 
mod  their  purchases,  but  do  not  discover  how  and 
vhere  they  had  the  money.  You  do  not  see  the  fees 
taken  by  a  member  of  the  parliament  (of  I^ffis),l)ut 
YOU  see  the  alliances  with  which  he  has  strengthened 
kis  fiimily,  and  the  honours  he  has  obtained  for  hit 
children.  No  man  accounts  to  the  public  for  his  re- 
venue, but  every  one  publishes  his  purchases. 

The  end  of  study  is  to  become  better  and  wiser.  w4t 
It  is   (said  Epicharnws*)  the  understanding  that^^^^^^J 
aees  and  hears;  it  is  the  understanding  that  turns «t«d^ 
every  thing  to  advantage,  that  orders  every  thing, 
and  that  acts,  rules,  and  reigns.    All  other  things  ' 

are  blind,  deaf,  and  lifeless*  But  certainl]^  we  ren^ 
der  it  timorous  and  cowardly,  in  not  allowing  it  the 
liberty  to  do  any  thing  of  itself.  Who  ever  asked 
his  pupil  what  he  thought  of  rhetoric  and  grammar, 
or  of  such  and  such  a  sentence  of  Cicero !  They 
aM  stuck  fuU'feathered  into  our  memory,  like  oracles, 
of  which  the  letters  and  the  syllables  are  of  the  sub* 
stance  of  the  thing.  To  know  by  rote,  is  no  know* 
ledge ;  it  is  only  a  retention  of  what  is  entrusted  td 
the  memory.  That  which  a  man  truly  knows  may  be 
disposed  of  without  regard  to  the  author,  or  refe- 
rence to  the  book  ftom  whence  he.  had  it.  A  stock 
of  mere  bookish  learning  is  a  sad  stock  indeed !    I 

*  It  18  tho  genera]  odihioq  of  the  learned,  that  Epicharmus  had 
this  passage  in  a  book  wolch  be  wrote  upon  the  nature  of  tbings,  cf 
whicn  there  are  only  some  fragments  left.  We  find  it  also  in  the 
Stromates  of  Clement  Alexandrin.  lib.  ii,  in  Plutarch,  de  Solertla 
Animaliuwa  p^  961,  printed  at  Paris  ia  1628,  and  in  other  books* 


172  '  OF  THE  EDUCATION 

grant  tiiat  it  may  serve  for  an  ornament,  but  not  for 
a  foundation,  according  to  the  opinion  of  Plato, 
wiio  says,  that  true  philosophy  is  compounded  of 
constancy,  faith,  and  sincenty,  and  that  the  other 
fences,  that  are  directed  to  other  views,  are  only 
counterfeits^.    I  could  wish  that  Palud  or  Pompey, 
those  famous  dancing-masters  of  .my  time,   could 
have  taught  us  to  cut  capers  by  only  peeing  them  da 
it,  without  ever  stirring  from  our  seats,  as  these  men 
pretend  to  improve  our.  understanding,  without  ex- 
ercising it;  or  that  we  had  learned  to  ride,  handle  a 
pike,  touch  a  lute,  or  sing,  without  the  trouble  of 
practice,  .as  these  pretend  to  make  us  think  and 
speak  wdl,  without  exercising  either  our  judgment 
*er  voice.    Now,  while  we  are  learning,  whatsoever 
•presents  itself  before  Us^  is  a  book  sufficient ;  the  un- 
luckiness  of  a  page,  th^  blunder  of  a  footman,  or 
table-talk,  are  so  many  new  sulgects. 
The  vmuy     For  this  reason,  an  acquaintance  with  the  world, 
ifar^'*'  and  visiting  foreign  countries,  is  of  wonderful  ser- 
ymmn  sen.  vice,  not  to  bring  back,  as  most  of  our  noblesse  do, 
^**"*^     an  account  of  how  many  paces  Santa  Rotunda  is  in 
compass,  ot  of  the  richness  of  Signiora  Livia's  linen 
drawers ;  or,  as  some  others,  how  much  Nero's  &ce 
in  a  statue,  in  such  an  old  ruin,  is  longer  or  broada^ 
than  that  stamped  on  some  medal;  but  to  be  able 
chiefly  to  give  an  account  of  the  humours  and  cu^ 
.toms  of  those  nations  which  they  have  visited,  and 
that  we  may  polish  our  wits  by  rubbing  them  upon 
•those  of  others, 
whena    *     I  would  havc  a  lad  sent  abroad  very  young,  and 
fi^"**^  (principally,  in  order  to  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone) 
should  bf^-into  those  neighbouring  nations  whose  language  is 
flul*"  ,^  .roost  different  from  our  own,  and  to  which,  if  it  be 
not  formed  betimes,  the  tongue  cannot  bend»    It  is  f 
also  an  opinion  universally  received,  "  That  a  child 
."  should  not  be  brought  up  in  his  mother's  lap." 
The  natural  affection  of  parents  mak&s  even  the  dis- 
creetest  of  them  all  so  overfbnd,  that  they  cannot 
find  in  their  hearts  either  to  chastise  tliem  for  their 


0F  CfilLDBEK.     ^  173 

&ults»  nor  can  they  bear  to  see  them  sufier  hardship9 
and  hazards,  which  they  ought  to  be  brought  up  in. 
They  could  not  endure  to  see  them  come  home  from 
their  exercises  all  in  dust  and  sweat,  to  drink  cold 
water  when  they  are  hot,^nor  to  see  them  mount  an: 
unruly  horse,  or  to  fight  with  sword  and  pistol ; .  and 
yet  there^  is  no  remedy ;  for  it  is  certain,  that  who- . 
ever  hopes  to  make  a  lad  turn  out  a  brave  man,  must 
by  no  means  spare  him  in  his  youth,  and  must  oflken 
transgress  the  rules  of  physic:.  . 

Vttamque  sub  dioy  et  tirepides  agat     • 
In  rebus,* 

He  must  sliarp  cold  and  scorching  heat  despise, 
Defybg  danger  where  most  danger  lies. 

IJeither  is  it  enough  to  inspire  him  with  courage,  but 
care  must  be  taken  also  to  give  hiiii  strength  of  mus- 
cles. The  soul  will,  be  too  much  oppressed  if  not 
seconded  by  the  body,  and  would  have  too  hard  a 
task  to  discharge  two  offices  alone.  I  know,  to  my 
sorrow,  how  much  mine  groans  under  the  burden, 
being  accommodated  with  a  body  so  tender  and  de- 
licate, as  to  bear  upon  it  too  hard ;  and  often  per* 
ceive  in  my  reading,  that  our  masters,  in  their  wri- 
tings, make  examples  pass  for  those  of  ma^animity 
and  courage,  which  they  should  rather  ascribe  to  the 
thickness  of  the  skin,  and  the  hardness  of  the  bones; 
for  I  have  seen  men,  women,  and  children  so  formed 
by  nature,  that  they  could  bear  a  bastinadoing  better 
than  I  could  a  fillip  of  a  finger  j  and  that,  when  they 
were  soundly  drubbed,  would  neither  cry  out,  nor 
wince.  Thus,  when  wrestlers  imitate  the  philoso;  f 
phers  in  patience,  it  is  owing  rather  to  their  strong  / 
sinews,  than  to  their  stout  hearts.  Now  to  be  inured 
to  undergo  labour,  is  to  be  accustomed  to  endure 
grief.  Labor ,  callum  obducit  dolor  i.-f  "Labour 
**  hardens  us  to  bear  grief,  by  makitig  it  callous." 
A  boy  is  to  be  broke  to  the  toil  by  severity  of  ex* 

*  Horat.  lib.  iii.  Ode  ii.  ver.  5,  6. 
t  Cic  Tuac  Quest  lib.  iL  G»f.  !$• 


I?4  6v  TH£  imycAfio^ 

erciseSy  in  order  to  fit  him  fw  bearit^  ^  pilin  atitf 
smart  of  dislocations,  colics,  caustics,  and  even 
of  imprisonment  and  torture  $  for  it  may  be  his  mis* 
fortune  to  be  exposed  even  to  the  worst  of  these, 
which,  according  as  times  are,  may  be  the  lot  of  the 
good  as  well  as  of  the  bad.  Of  this  tireare  a  pro<^ 
Whoever  firiits  against  the  laws,  threatens  all  honest 
men  with  the  lash  and  halter.  And,  moreov^,  by 
the  young  man's  bemg  kept  at  home,  the  authority 
of  his  governor  over  him,  which  ought  to  be  flove« 
reign,  is  interrupted  and  checked  by  the  presence  of 
the  parents.  Add  to  this,  that  the  respect  paid  him 
by  tne  family,  and  his  consideration  of  the  greatness 
he  is  heir  to,  are,  in  my  opinion,,  no  small  inconve- 
niences at  that  age. 
Modesty  While  we  thus  learn  to  converse  with  mankind,  I 
Jfry  tT**"^2ive  often  observed  this  vice,  that  instead  of  taking 
youOi.  due  hints  from  others,  we  only  make  it  our  business 
to  lay  ourselves  open  to  them,  and  are  at  more  pains 
to  exhibit  our  own  stock,  than  to  lay  in  new.  Si- 
lence and  modesty  are  veir  advantageous  qualities  in 
conversation.  The  lad  therefore  should  be  taught 
hot  to  be  too  profuse  of  the  talent  which  he  has  ac« 

auired,  and  not  to  take  exceptions  at  every  silly  stoiy 
lat  is  told  in  his  hearing ;  for  it  is  rudeness  to  carp 
at  every  thing  that  is  not  agreeable  to  our  taste.  Let 
him  ttunk  it  sufficient  to  conceit  himself,  and  not 
seem  to  reproach  another  for  not  doing  that  which 
he  refuses  to  do  himself,  nor  act  counter  to  the  com- 
mon customs.  Licet  sapere  sinepompaj  sine  invidia  :* 
Let  him  be  wise  without  ostentation,  or  contracting 
envy.  Let  him  avoid  that  unpolite  mimicking  d[ 
authority,  and  that  puerile  ambition  of  appearing 
more  refined,  to  be  thought  otherwise  than  ne  really 
is,  and  as  if  reproofs  and  interruptions,  though  so 
disagreeable,  were  not  to  be  omitted,  with  a  view  of 
deriving  from  thence  some  singular  reputation.  M 
it  is  the  sole  prerogative  of  great  poets  to  make  use 


*  Senec  Epist  103r 


r  «F  CHItBItEN.    .  175 

nf  Ae  tpetica  ticentia^  so  it  is  intolerable  that  an^ 
but  sublime  and  celebrated  genuises  should  be  pn- 
vileged  above  the  authority  of  custom.  &  quid 
S0crat€$  et .  ArUtippus  contra  morem  et  cansuettu 
dimmfecenmtj  idem  sibi  ne  arbitratur  licere:  magi^ 
enim  iilij  et  divifus  bonis  hancUcentiamas$equebantur:^ 
'^  If  Socrates  and  Aristippus  transgressed  the  rules 
*^  of  custom,  let  him  not  imagine  niat  he  may  take 
^  the.  same  liberty,  for  their  great  and  sublime 
'^  virtues  rendered  that  sort  of  privil^e  excusable  ia 
^^  them/'  He  should  be  taught  never  to  enter  into 
eonversation  or  controversy,  but  ^ere  he  meets 
-with  an. antagonist  ^irw&y  dT  engaging ;^  and,  even 
with  such,  not  to  make  use  of  all  the  sophistiy  that 
may  be  of  service  to  him,  but  only  such  turns  as 
may  be  of  most  use  to  him  upon  the  occasi<m.  Let 
him  be  charged  to.  be  nice  in  the  choice  of  his  argu- 
ments, to  abominate  impertinence,  and  consequently 
to  n&xt  conciseness.  Above  all,  let  him  oe  upi- 
atructed  to  acquiesce,*  and  submit  to  truth,  as  soon 
as  ever  he  shall  be  convinced  of  it,  whetherby  his 
opponent's  arguments,  or  upon  better  consideration 
m  ius  own ;  ibr  he  should  never  be  preferred  to  the 
dnur  fiir  muttering  a  set  form  of  words,  nor  engaged 
in  any  cause  wJuch  he  does  not  approve.  Neque  ut 
omnia^  qua  prascripta  et  imperata  nnt^  dejendat^ 
necesntate  ulia  coptur  ;t  ^*  Neither  is  he  obliged, 
**  by  any  sort  of  necessity,  to  defend  every  thing 
^  mat  is  prescribed  or  enjoined  to  him.'' 

If  the  governor  be  of  my  humour,  he  will  form  They  o«sbi 
his  pupil  to  be  a  very  loyal  subject  to  his  prince,  very  U^jJ^^Ji 
afiectionate  to  his  person,  and  very  courageous  in  the  sovc 
quarrel ;  but,  withaif  he  will  damp  any  ambition  he  ^Jf^eTol^ 
may  have  to  attach  himself  to  his  service  by  any  other  attadied  t» 
engagement  than  public  dut^.  For  besides  maayp\"y^^^ 
other  inconveniences  that  are  injurious  to  our  liberty,  «t  court. 
«  man's  judgment  :being  prepossessed  by  these  parti- 

*  Cic.-  de  Offic.  4ib.  i.  cap.  41. 
-..  .   .      f  Cie^  Ae^  Qmesi.  Hb.  XT.  c«p.  S. 


n$  OF  THE  EmJCAtlOK 

cular  obligations,  is  either  divided  and  citrsmped,  of 
is  stained  with  indiscretion  and  ingratitude.   A  man, 
that  is  a  perfect  courtier,  can  neither  have  the  power 
nor  the  will  to  speak  and  think  ollierwise  than  &* 
vourably  of  a  master,  who,  out  of  so  many  thousands 
of  his  subjects,  has  singled  him  to  maintain  and 
prefer  with  his  own  hands.    This  favour,  and  the 
benefit  flowing  from  it,  must  needs,  and  not  without 
some  reason,  spoil  his  freedom  of  speaking,  and  cast 
a  mist  before  his  eyes :  and  we  commonly  find  the 
language  of  such  people,  quite  different  from  that  of 
others  of  the  same  nation,  and  that  it  does  not  dCi- 
serve  much  credit,  when  it  treats  of  afl&irs  relating 
to  the  court  and  the  prince. 
Ajad  most     Let  his  couscicnce  and  his  virtue  be  conspicuous 
Jj^j^^'^^in  his  discourse,  and  have  reason  only  for  their  guide; 
cerity.      Make  him  understand  tliat  his  own  confi^ssion  of  any 
mistake,  which  he  may  discover  in  what  he  says, 
though  none  perceive  it  but  himself,  is  an^efieet  of 
judgment  and  sincerity,  which  are  the  principal  qua^ 
lifications  he  aims  at;  that  obstinacy  and  wrai^^g 
are  common  qualities,  which  are  most  to  be  disco^ 
vered  in  sordid  souls.    That  to  recollect  and  correct 
himself,  and  to  give  up  a  bad  cause  in  the  warmth 
of  his  dispute,  are  great  and  uncommon  philoso- 
phical qualities.  \  . 
nemmtbe     Hc  must  bc  adviscd,  when  he  is  in  company,  to  \ 
^^^l^n  ^*^®  ^  ^y^  ^^  every  comer  of  the  room ;  ror  I  find 
company,  that  the  cnicf  seats  are  commonly  taken  by  men  of 
tw^to**'^tihi®  least  capacity,  and  that  the  greatest  fortunes  are 
every  thing  not  always  accompauicd  with  abilities.     I  have  been  / 
d^ne.^     present  where,  wnile  those  at  the  upper  end  of  a 
table  have  been  admiring  the  beauty  of  the  tapestry^ 
or  commending  the  flavour  of  the  sack,  they,  have 
lost  many  fine  things  said  at  the  lower  end  of  itk 
Let  him  sifl  every  man's  talent :  from  a  herdsman,  a 
mason,  or  a  passenger,  a  man  may  pick  outsome^ 
thing  of  what  every  one  deals  in,  to  treasure  in  his 
memory ;  and  even  the  folly  and  weakness  of  others 
will  contribute  to  his  instruction.    By  a  close  obser* 


OF  CHILDREN.  177 

tatioQ  of  the  gracea  and  fashions  of  all  he  sees,  he 
will  create  to  himself  an  emulation  of  the  good,  and 
contempt  of  bad  .men. 
/      Let  an  honest  curiosity  be  suggested  to  his  fkacy  He  onjrbt 
/  of  being  inquisitive  after  every,  tlnng;  and  whatever  gpi^edwuh 
is  rare  and  singular  in  bis  neighbourhood,  let  him  see  a  laodabie 
it;   be  it  a  structure,  a  fountain,  or  a  remarkable *^"^*°"*^" 
man,  the  field  of  a  battle  fought  in  ancient  days,  the 
expedition  of  Caesar,  or  Charlemain : 

Qius  tellus  sit  lenta  ^elu,  quce  piitris  al  cesiu, 
renins  in  Italiam  qiiis  bene  velaferat.* 

What  lands  are  frozen,  what  are  parch' d,  explore. 
And  what  wind  blows  on  the  Italian  shore. 

.  Let  him  inquire  into  the  manners,  revenues,  andrheirreiit 
aUiaiices  of  princes.     Things  that  are  very  (feasant  1^^"^?^'^ 
to  learn,  and  as  useful  to  know.     In  this  acquaint- from  the 
ance  with  mankind,  I  chiefly  include  those  who  live  tx^lryl 
only  in  historical  memoirs.     He  will,  by  the  help  of 
^ch  histories,  get  acquainted  with  the  great  geniuses 
of  the  best  ages.    It  is  a  vain  study,  I  confess,  ioi 
those  who  do  not  apply  .closely  to  it,  but  to  UiQse 
who  do,  it  is  a  study  ox  inestimable  benefit,  and  tibe 
only  one,  as  Plato  reports,  which  the  Laced^smoniaqs 
reserved  to  themselves.    What  profit  will  not  the 
pupil  gain  in  this  respect,  by  reading  the  lives  of 
rlutarch  ?     But  let  his  governor  remember  what  is 
the  true  end  of  his  lessons,  and  that  he  do  not  so 
much  imprint  in  his  pupil's  memory,  the  date  of  the 
ruin  of  Carthage,  as  the  manners  of  Hannibal  and 
Scipio ;  nor  so  much  what  place  Marcellus  died  at, 
as  why  it  was  unworthy  of  nis  duty  that  he  should 
die  there.    Let  him  not  take  so  much  pains  to  teach 
him  the  narrative  part  of  histories,  as  to.  form  his 
judgment  of  them,  which,  in  my  opinion,  is  the  thing 
that  we  apply  ourselves  to,  with  the  mo^t  difierent 
measures.     I  have  read  a  hundred  things  in  Titus 
Livius,'  that  has  escaped  tlie  observation  of  others, 

*  Pjcgpert.  lib.  iv.  ekg.  3,  v.  39,  40. 
VOL.  I.  N 


178  OP  tHE  EDtfCATlON 

afid  Plutarch  has  read  a  hundred  more  there,  besides 
what  I  was  able  to  discover,  or  than  perhaps  that 
author  ever  inserted  in  his  book.  To  some  it  is 
merely  a  grammar  study ;  to  others,  the  very  anatomy 
of  philosophy,  by  which  the  most  abstruse  parts  of 
human  nature  are  penetrated  into.  There  are,  in 
Plutarch,  many  long  discourses  well  worthy  of  atten- 
tion; for,  in  my  opinion,  he  is  the  greatest  master 
in  that  kind  of  writing;  but  there  are  a  thousand 
particulars,  which  he  has  only  glanced  upon,  where 
he  only  points  with  his  fingers,  which  way  we  may 
go  if  we  please ;  and  he  contents  himself  sometimes 
with  only  giving  a  hint,  in  the  most  delicate  part  of 
his  discourses,  from  whence  we  are  to  pluck  out 
what  deserves  the  public  consideration:  for  example, 
where  he  says,*  '*  That  the  inhabitants  of  Asia  came 
^  to  be  vassals  to  one  man,  only  because  they  were 
**  not  able  to  pronounce  the  single  syllable,  na" 
Which  saying  of  his,  gave  matter  and  occasion  to 
Boetius,t  to  write  his  tract  of  Voluntary  Servitude, 
where  he  makes  a  whole  discourse  in  examining  the 
trivial  action  of  a  man's  life,  or  inquiring  into  a  word 
that  does  not  seem  of  importance  enough  to  deserve 
it.  It  is  a  pity  that  men  of  understanding  should  so 
much  affect  brevity.  No  doubt  that  it  is  some  advan- 
tage to  their  reputation,  but  we  are  losers  by  it 

*  In  his  Treatise  of  False  Modesty,  ch.  vii.  of  Amyot's  Trans- 
latioh. 

f  This  was  Montaigne's  friend,  of  whom  I  shall  have  occasion  to 
say  more  elsewhere.  His  name  was  Stephen  Boetius,  and  he  com* 
posed  that  Book  of  Voluntary  Servitude^  which  is  here  montjoned 
by  Montaigne,  and  of  which  We  shall  find  him  discoursing  more  par- 
ticularly in  the  twenty-seventh  chapter  of  this  book,  under  the  artide 
of  Friendship.  One  thin^  very  surprising  is,  that  in  all  the  editions 
which  I  have  consulted,  mstead  of  Boetius  we  read  Boeqtia,  a  coun- 
try of  Greecb;  and  that  in  all  those  which  have  short  marginal 
lemmas  of  what  is  contained  in  the  pages,  we  are  told,  upon  account 
of  this  passage  in  Plutarch,  that  this  country  of  Greece  voluntarily 
submitted  to  slavery ;  a  fatal  accident,  which  care  has  been  taken  to 
point  out  in  the  margin,  by  tiiese  words,  which  are  by  no  means 
equivocal.  ^*  The  voluntary  slavery  of  the  Boeotians."  Thus  a 
very  material  conftision  has  arisen  from  a  small  error  in  typogn^hy. 


5f  CMILDRB^J  179 

{lutltrch  had  rather  "We  should  applaiid  his  judgment  , 
than  his  knowledge,  and  chose  rather  to  leave  ua 
with  an  appetite  ^an  a  surfeit.  He  knew  thftt  too 
much  might  be  said  eveii  on  good  subjects;  stnd  that 
Alexandrides  justly  reproached  him.  Who  made  very 
pertinent)  but  too  long,  speeches  to  the  Ephorl,  by 
saying,*  "  O  stranger !  thou  speakest  what  thoii 
*'  oughteSt  to  say,  as  to  the  matter  of  it,  but  not  in 
*^  the  due  manner/'  Such  as  have  but  little  flesh  on 
thelir  bones,  stuff  themselves  out  with  clothes  \  so 
they  who  have  &  scanty  subject  to  treat  of^  swell  it 
out  with  words. 

IThe  human  understanding  is  Wotiderfully  dulight^  conversai 
cned  by  conversing  with  the  world ;  for  we  are  of  |j,°\*  ^4 
ourselves  stupid,   and  short-sighted^     One  asking  contri. 
Socrates  of  what  country  he  was,  he  did  not  make  J^'JJ^'t^''^^ 
answer,  **  Of  Athens,'*  but,  *«  Of  the  world.''t    He,  form  onf 
who  had  the  richest  and  the  most  extensive  imagina-''"*'*"""^ 
tion,  was  fond  of  calling  the  whole  world  his  country^ 
and  extended  his  acquaintance,  Sodiety,  and  friend- 
ship to  all  mankind,  not  as  we  do,  who  look  no  far- 
ther than  the  ground  we  stand  on.     When  the  vines 
of  the  village  where  I  live  are  nipped  with  the  frosty 
our  priest  immediately  infers,  that  the  wrath  of  God 
is  kmdled  against  the.  human  race,  and  judges  that 
the  GannibaJs  have  already  got  the  pip.     To  see  our 
civil  wars,  who  is  there  tnat  does  not  cry  out,  that 
the  machine  of  the  world  is  turned  topsy-tifrvy,  and 
that  the  day  of  judgment  is  just  at  hand,  without 
considering  that  many  worse  things  have  hapi)enedf 
and  that  for  all  this,  people  are  very  joyous  in  teil 
thousand  other  parts  of  this  earth  ?    For  my  part^ 
considering  the  licentiousness  and  impunity  oi  the 
times^  I  wonder  that  there  is  no  more  mischief-done. 
To  him  who  feels  the  hail-stones  patter  about  his 
ears,  the  whole  hemisphere  appears  to  be  in  a  storm 

*  HutarcK  in  the  notable  sayings  of  the  Lacedflononians. 
f  Cic.  Tu8c  Qusest.  lib.  v.  cap.  37,  and  Ptutarch,  in  hil  Dk- 
isourse  on  Banishment,  cap.  4i 


180  OF  THE  EDdCATIOl/ 

;aad  tempest ;  like  the  ridiculous  Savoyard,  who  said 
very  gravely,  that,  if  that  simple  king,  of  France 
.coiud  have  managed  his  fortune  well,  he  might  in 
time  have  been  steward  of  tlie  houshold  to  his  duke. 
The  fellow,  in  his  sliallow  imagination,  could  not 
icon6eive  any  grandeur  superior  to  that  of  his  master. 
In  truth,  we  are  all  of  us  guilty  of  this  error,  an 
error  of  no  small  consequence  and  prejudice.  But 
whoever  represents  to  himself,  as  in  a  picture,  that 

freat  image  of  our  mother  Nature,  pourtrayed  in 
er  AiU  majesty,  whoever  reads^n  her  fac«  ao  general 
and  constant  a  variety,  whoever  observes  himself  in 
that  figure,  and  not  himself  only,  but  a  whole  king- 
dom no  bigger  than  the  least  point  made  by  a  pencil^ 
in  coiquparison  of  the  whole,  that  man  alone  estimates 
things  according  to  their  true  grandeur. 
The  world/  This  great  world,  which  some  do  net  scruple  to 
th?yo^^  multiply  as  several  species  under  one  genus,  is  the 
book  (  P*^^'^^'^  ^"  which  we  ought  to  view  ourselves,  in  order 
\  to  discover  the  true  bias.  In  ^ort,  I  would  have 
J  this  to  be  the  book  for  niy  schqlj^^to  Mu^^^ ;  for  so 
many  humours,  sects,  judgments,  opinions,  laws, 
and  customs,  teach  us  to  judge  solidly  of  our  own, 
and  inform  our  understanding  how  to  discover  its  im- 
perfection and  natural  infirmity,  which  is  a  lesson  of 
no  little  importance.  So  many  turns  and  revolutions 
of  state,  and  the  fortune  of  the  public,  will  teach 
us  to  make  no  great  wonder  at  our  own^  So  many 
great  names,  so  many  victories  and  conquests  buried 
in  oblivion,  render  our  hopes  ridiculous  of  eternalizing 
our  fame,  by  the  taking  of  half  a  score  light  horse^ 
men  and  a  paltry  turret,  which  hadnever  been  heard 
of,  if  it  had  not  been  demolished.  The  pride  and 
arrogance  of  so  many  foreign  pomps  and  ceremonies, 
the  conceited  majesty  of  so  many  courts,  and  so 
much  grandeur,  inure  and  strengthen  our  sight  to 
behold  the  lustre  of  our  own,  without  dazzling  our 
eyes.  So  many  millions  of  men  buried  befbr^  us, 
encourage  us  not  to  fear  the  going  to  join  such  good 


OF  CHILDEEN.  Iftl 

company  in  the  other  world ;  and  8o  of  every  thing 
else.  I^rthaeoras  used  to  say,*  That  our  life  makes 
a  retreat  to  me  great  and  populous  assemblies  of  the 
Olympic  games,  wherein  some  exercise  the  body  in 
order  to  acquire  the  glory  of  winning  the  prize,  and 
others  carry  merchandise  to  sell  for  pont.  There 
are  some  (and  those  none  of  the  worst)  who  propose 
no  other  advantage  than  onl^  to  look  on,  and  con- 
sider, how  and  why  every  thing  is  done ;  and  to  be 
spectators  of  the  lives  of  other  men,  in  order  Ihere- 
'by  to  judge  and  regulate  their  own. 

B^  examples  might  properly  be  taught  the  most  The  acience 
profitable  discoiu^es  of  philosophy,  by  which  idl^^iluS^iife 
human  actions  ought  to  be  regulated  and  directed.  onsi>t  to  be 
He  should  be  instructed  ^»tH  in 

the  miodt 
Quid  fas  optare,  ^uid  asf>€r  of  children. 


Utile  nrimmus  habet,  patrlce  chamqite  propmquis 
Qiianium  etargiri  deceat ;  qMem  te  Dens  esse 
Jussiij  et  kumana  qua  parte  locatus  es  in  re,t 
QuidsumuSi  out  quidnamvicturi  gignimnr^X 
What  man  may  wish,  what's  money's  proper  lise, 
What  are  our  country's,  and  our  neighbour'^  dues ; 
W}iat  God  commands  an  honest  man  to  be. 
And  here  on  earth  to  know  in  what  degree 
God  has  him  plac'd,  and  what  we  are,  and  why 
He  gave  us  being  and  humanity. 

what  knowledge  is,  and  what  it  is  to  be  ignorant ; 
what  oiight  to  be  the  aim  of  study ;  what  valour, 
temperance,  and  justice  are ;  the  difference  between 
ambition  and  avarice,  servitude  and  subordination, 
licentiousness  and  liberty;  the  marks  whereby  to 
know  what  is  true  and  solid  contentment ;  how  far 
death,  sorrow,  and  disgrace  may  be  dreaded : 

Et  quo  quemque  modofugiatqueferaique  lahrem.^ 
How  labour  to  avoid,  or  how  sustain. 

By  what  spnngs  we  move,  and  the  reason  of  bur  va- 

*  Cic.  Tusc  Qusst.  h*b.  v.  cap.  3.  f  Pers.  Sat  iii.  v.  69. 

X  Montaigne  has  put  this  verse  last,  which  in  Persius^oes  before 

the  others,  and  is  the  67th.  •  §  Virg,  JE/neid.  lib.  in*  set.  459. 


18^  OP  THE  EDUCATIOlf 

rious  inclinations.  For,  methinks,  tHe  first  lessons 
with  which  the  youth's  understanding  ought  to  be 
seasoned,  should  be  such  as  regulate  his  manners  and 
his  sense,  which  will  instruct  him  to  know  himself, 
and  how  to  live  well,  and  die  well.  Among  the 
liberal  sciences,  let  us  begin  with  that  which  makes 
us  free,*  though  they  all  conduce,  in  some  degree, 
to  the  instruction  and  use  of  life,  as  all  other  tmngs 
also  do  in  some  respect  or  other ;  but  let  us  choose 
that  which  directly  and  professedly  serves  to  that  end. 
Were  we  once  able  to  restrain  our  appetites  within 
their  just  and  natural  limits,  we  should  find  that  the 
greater  part  of  the  sciences  would  be  useless  to  us, 
and  that,  even  in  such  as  are  most  essential,  there 
ure  many  very  unnecessary  breadths  and  depths 
which  we  were  better  to  let  alone,  and,  according 
to  the  direction  of  Socrates,t  limit  the  course  of 
pur  studies  to  those  thipgs  ^^hich  ^e  of  real  adl^ 
vantage  r 

III  ■■   —  Sapere  aude  ! 
Incipe:  v'wendi  qui  recie  profrogat  horamf 
Rusticus  expeciat  dum  dejtuat  anmisy  at  iUe 
Laliturj  et  labetur  ifi  arnne  votubilis  CBvum.X 

Dare  to  be  wise ;  and  now 

Begin.    The  man  who  has  it  in  his  pow'r 
To  practice  virtue,  and  protracts  the  hour. 
Waits,  like  the  clown,  to  see  the  brook  run  low. 
Which  careless  flows,  and  will  for  ever  flow. 

It  is  a  great  folly  to  teach  our  children 

£utd  rruweant  Pisces,  animosaque  signa  Lemis, 
otuSj  et  Hesperia  quid  Capricornus  aqtia.§ 

*  Unum  studlum  vere  liberale  est  quod  liberum  facit.  Senec. 
Epist.  83. 

f  Diogenes  Laertius  in  the  Life  of  Socrates,  lib.  ir.  sect  21. 
Socrates  primus  philosophiam  devocavit  h  coclo,  et  coegit  de  vita  et 
mpribus  rebusque  bonis  et  nialis  quaerere.  Cic.  Tusc.  Qusst.lib.v. 
cap.  4.  i.  e.  "  Socrates  first  called  down  philosophy  from  the  heavens, 
^*  and  made  life  and  manners,  .and  good  and  evil,  the  objects  of  it$ 
■**  inquiry." 

X  Hor.  lib.  i.  Epist.  2,  ver.  40  to  4>d. 

$  Propert,  lib.  iv.  deg.  1,  ver.  85,  86. 


OF  CHILDREN.  183 

What  influence  Ksces,  and  fierce  Leo  have^ 
.  Or  Capricorn  in  the  Hesperian  wave. 

the  knowledge  of  the  stars,  and  the  motion  of  the 
eighth  sphere  before  their  own. 

From  me,  no  starin  heav'n's  whole  spangled  train 
Or  claims  attention,  or  augments  my  pain. 

Anaximenes  said,  in  a  letter  to  Pythagoras,  "  Why 
^*  should  I  trouble  myself  in  searching  for  the  secrets 
'^  of  the  stars,  having  death  or  slavery  continually 
**  before  my  eyes  ?'*  For  the  kings  of  Persia  were  at 
at  that  time  preparing  for  a  war  against  his  country. 
In  like  manner  every  one  ought  to  say,  "  Being  as- 
*^  saulted,  as  I  am,  by  ambition,  avarice,  temerity, 
*^  and  superstition,  and  having  within  me  so  many 
*'  other  enemies  of  life,  shall  I  trouble  myself  about 
**  the  revolutions  in  the  world  ?"    • 

After  he  has  been  instructed  in  what  will  make  At  what 
him  wiser  and  better,  he  may  then  be  entertained  o^ISiu^^bl 
with  a  view  of  logic,  natural  philosophy,  geometry,  imtnicted 
rhetoric;  and  when  his  judgment  is  formed  what*^**^*' 
science  to  choose,  he  will  soon  go  through  it.     The 
way  of  instructing  him  ought  to  be  sometimes  by 
discourse,  and  at  other  times  by  reading.     Sk>me« 
times  his  governor  should  put  the  author  he  judges 
most  proper  into  his  hands,  and  sometimes  give  lum 
the  marrow  and  substance  of  his  treatise,  rightly  pre-* 
pared  for  his  more  easy  digestion :  and  if  himself  be 
not  conversant  enough  in  books,  to  select  the  many 
fine  discourses  they  contain,  in  order  to  accomplish 
his  aim,  some  man  of  learning  may  be  associated 
with  the  governor,  who,  when  occasion  requires^ 
may  supply  him  with  the  stores  that  shall  be  neces- 
sary for  him  to  distribute  ^nd  dispense  to  his  pupil^ 
Who  can  doubt  whether  this  way  of  teaching  is  more 
easy  and  natural  than  that  of  Gazce,  in  which  th^ 

•  Anacreon,  odexvii.  v^,  10  an4  U^ 


184  OF  THE  £DUCA1>I0N 

precepts  are  so  harsh  and  intricate,  and  the  terms  so 
empty  and  unmeaning,  that  there  iS  no  hold  to  be 
taken  of  them,   nothing  to  rouse  the  attention ; 
whereas  here  the  mind  has  somewhat  to  taste  and 
feed  upon.     This  fruit  therefore  is  without  compari- 
son  the  best,  and  will  be  the  soonest  ripe. 
PhiioBo-        It  is  a  thousand  pities  that  things  are  come  to 
fpLdtevf n  such  a  pass  in  this  age,  that  philosophy,  even  by 
by  men  of  mcu  of  Understanding,  is  looked  upon  as  a  vain  and 
w  nso,  and  fantastical  name,  a  thing  of  no  ude  and  valu^,  either 
in  opinion  or  effect ;    and  I  think  that  sophistry  is 
tlie  cause  of  it  all,  by  possessing  its  avenues.     It  is 
very  wrong  to  represent  it  to  youth  as  a  thing  in«» 
accessible,    and  with  such  a  frowning,  grim,  and 
terrible  aspect.     Who  is  it  that  has  put  this  pale  and 
hideous  mask  upon  it  ?  There  is  nothing  more  gay, 
airy,  and  frolicksome,  nay,  I  had  almost  said,  more 
svanfaon.     It  preaches  nothing  but  feasting  and  jol- 
lity.     A  melancholy,  thoughtful"  countenance  is  a 
sign  that  it  does  not  reside  there.     Demetrius,  the 
grammarian,  finding  a  knot  of  philosophers  sittiug 
together  in  the  temple  of  Delphos,  said  to  them,* 
*'  Either  I  am  mistaken,  or,  by  your  cheerful  and 
^'  pleasant  countenances,  you  are  engaged  in  no  very 
^'  deep  discourse/*     To  which  one  of  them,  Hera* 
clean,  the  magician,  replied,  "  It  is  for  such  as  puz* 
**  zle  themselves  in  seeking  whether  the  future  tense 
^*  of  the  verb  |3axxw,  has  a  double  ^,  or  tJiat  hunt 
«  after  the  derivation  of  the  comparatives  x^?'*'» 
♦*  p&iTiov,  and  the  superlatives  p^i/firo*',  (3iXT4ro»5  to  knit 
•^  their  brows  whilst  discoursing  of  their  science ; 
"but  as  to  philosophical  discourses^  they  always 
♦*  divert  and  cheer  up  those  who  attend  to  them,  and 
f*  never  make  them  sour  nor  sad  : 

Deprendas  anmi  iormenta  lateiUh  in  (V^ro 
Ccrpwe^  deprendas  et  gaitdia:  sttmit  xititnnque 
Inae  habiium  fades. \ 

»  *  Plutarch,  of  oracles  that  had  ceased,  ch,  v, 

t  Juv,  Sat.  ix.  ver.  18,  19, 


OF  CHILDREN*  ^85 

When  some  importadt  ill  disturbs  the  soul. 
How  vainly  silence  would  our  grief  control  ? 
Not  joy,  nor  sorrow,  can  be  hid  by  art, 
Our  foreheads  blab  the  secrets  of  our  heart. 

The  mind  of  a  philosopher  is  in  such  a  sound  state^  Joy  and 
that  it  will  also  contribute  to  the  health  of  the  bpdyi»^r;;j';j;j*' 
Philosophy  maked  its  ease  and  tranquillity  shine  so  marks  of 
as  to  be  discerned  from  without ;  it  forms  the  exter-  ^**^'"' 
nal  behaviour  according  to  its  own  mould,  and  con- 
iequently  arms  the  person  who  entertains  it  with  a 
modest  assurance,  a  brisk  active  deportment,  and  a 
contented,    debonnair  countenance.       A  constant 
cheerfulness  is  the  surest  sign  of  wisdom,  whose 
State  is  like  that  of  things  in  the  regions  above  the 
moon,  always  serene.     It  is  Baraco  and  Baralipton 
that  render  their  disciples  so  dirty  and  smoky.     It 
13  not  philosophy,  of  which  they  know  nothing  at 
all  but  by  hearsay.     It  is  this  that  undertakes  to 
calm  the  tempests  of  the  soul,  and  to  make  hunger 
and  thirst  smile ;   and  this  it  does  not  by  certain 
imaginary  epicycles,  but  by  natural  and  palpable  ar- 
guments. 

It  has  virtue  for  its  aim,  which  is  not,  as  thevfrtiie,itft 
schoolmen  say,  situate  upon  the  summit  of  a  steep,  raetw*^nd 
rugged,  and  inaccessible  hill ;  for  such  as  have  ap-  residence. 
proached  it,  have  found  it,  on  the  contrary,  to  be 
seated  in  a  fs^ir,  fruitful,  and  flourishing  plain,  from 
whence,  it  has  a  clear  view  of  all  thiqgs  below,  to 
which  place  my  one  however  may  arrive,  if  he 
knows  the  best  way,  through  shady,  verdant,  and 
sweetly  flourishing  walks,  by  a  pleasant  and  gentle 
descent,  like  that  of  the  celestial  arches.  For  want 
of  having  frequented  this  supreme,  beautiful,  equally 
delightful  and  courageous  virtue,  this  professed  and 
implacable  enemy  to  animasity,  vexation,  fear,  and 
constraint,  whose  guide  is  nature,  and  whose  ^com- 
panions are  happiness  and  pleasure,  they  have^  in  the 
weakness  of  their  imagination,  created  this  .silly„ 
melancholy,  quarrelsome,  spitefiil,  menacing,  quaint 
image  of  it,  and  placed  it  on  a  solitary  rock  amongst 


186  OF  THE  EDUCATION 

thorns  and  briars,  as  a  hobgoblin  to  scare  people 
from  it. 
Jjrhuob      ^^*'  ^^^  governor  that  I  would  have,  I  mean  such 
r"pr«lm/a  onc  as  knows  it  to  be  his  duty  to  possess  his  pupil 
«-ii  to  ywiih  ^.{th  as  much,  or  more,  aflPection  than  reverence  for 
sanii  timts  vlrtuc,  will  bc  able  to  inform  him,  that  the  poets 
«b|e*tton'  have  ever  more  accommodated  themselves  to  the 
vice.        taste  of  the  public,  and  will  make  him  sensible,  that 
(he  gods  have  placed  sweat  and  toil  in  the  cabinets 
of  Venus  rather  tlian  in  those  of  Minerva.      And 
when  he  begins  to  be  sensible  of  it,  by  representing, 
to  him  a  Bradamanta,  or  an  Angelica,*  for  a  mistress 
to  dally  with,  a  natural,  active,  generous,  a  mas- 
culine, a  manly  beauty,  in  comparison  of  a  sofl^ 
affected,  delicate,  artificial  beauty ;  the  one  dignified 
in  the  dress  of  a  hero,  crowned  with  a  glittering 
helmet,  the  other  adorned  like  a  minx  witn  pearls ; 
he  will  then  judge  his  aflection  to  be  masculine,  if  he 
6hall  choose  quite  contrary  to  that  effeminate  shep« 
herd  of  Phrygia. 
Asmyfo      Such  a  tutor  will  teach  him,  that  the  value  and 
Jd,  Md"w  sublimity  of  true  virtue   consists  in    the  facility, 
t^soorce  utility,  and  pleasure  of  exercising  it;  so  far  from 
pitfism,    being  difScult,  that  boys  as  well  as  men,  the  most 
simple  as  well  as  the  cunning,  may  attain  to  it,  and 
not  by  force,    but  by  rule.      Socrates,    its  chief 
favourite,  totally  quits  forcible  methods,  to  slip  into 
the  more  natural  facility  of  its  own  progress.     It  is 
the  nursing  mother  of  all  human  pleasures,  which, 
by  rendering  them  just,  makes  them  pure  and  safe, 
by  moderating  them  keeps  in  breath  and  appetite, 
and  like  a  kind  mother,  allows  in  abundance  all 
those  which  nature  requires,  even  to  satiety,  if  not 
to  lassitude,  unless,  perhaps,  we  choose  to  say,  that 
the  regimen  which  prevents  the  toper  from  being 
drunk,  the  glutton  from  being  surfeited,  the  whore- 
master  from    being   p-xed,    is  an  enemy  to  our 
]>teasures. 

*  Two  heroinef  in  Ariosto's  Orlando  Furioso. 


OP  CHILDREK.  187 

/.If  the  virtuous  man  has  not  the  cpmmon  share  ofThetme 
fortune,  he  does  without  it,  and  frames  himself^jJ^J^J 
another  altogether  his  own,  not  more  fickle  and  un-  ▼irtne, 
steady.  Virtue  knows  how  to  be  rich,  and  power- 
ful, and  learned,  and  to  lie  upon  perfrimed  quilts. 
It  loves  life,  beauty,  health,  and  honour,  but  its 
proper  and  peculiar  office  is  to  know  how  to  use  those 
blessings  regularly,  and  how  to  part  with  them  with* 
out  concern ;  an  office  much  more  noble  than  trou- 
blesome, the  whole  course  of  a  man's  life  being, 
without  it,  unnatural,  turbulent,  and  unseemly.  If 
the  pupil  shall  happen  to  be  of  so  different  a  dispo- 
sition, that  he  had  rather  hear  a  fable  than  a  narra- 
tive of  a  fine  voyage,  or  some  wise  discourse  which 
he  understands ;  if  at  the  beat  of  a  drum,  which  ex- 
cites the  youthftil  ardour  of  his  companions,  he  turns 
off  to  another,  who  calls  him.  to  see  a  puppet-show, 
or  the  tricks  of  a  merry  Andrew ;  if  he  does  not 
wish,  and  think  it  more  pleasant  and  delightful,  to 
return  all  over  dust  victorious  from  a  battle,  than 
from  the  play  of  tennis  or  foot-ball  with  the  prize  of 
those  exercises ;  I  see  no  other  remedy,  but  that  he 
be  put  apprentice  to  a  pastry-cook  in  some  good 
town,  though  he  were  the  son  of  a  duke,  according 
to  Plato's  receipt,  ^*  That  children  are  to  be  placed 
*^  out,  and  disposed  of,  not  according  to  the  wealth 
^^  or  rank  of  the  father,  but  according  to  their  own 

\      **  genius  or  capacity.** 

Since  philosophy  is  that  which  instructs  us  to  live,  Phiiow- 
and  that  it  has  a  lesson  for  infancy  as  well  as  other  fj'betugbt 
ages,  why  are  not  children  sooner  initiated  into  it :    »och>idr«»» 

Udum  et  molle  lutum  esi^  nwic^  mmc  praperandus,  et  acri 
Fingendus  sine  fine  rota.* 

Tiie  clay  »  moist,  and  soft ;  now,  now  make  haste. 
And  form  the  vessel,  for  the  wheel  turns  fkst. 

We  are  taught  to  live  when  we  are  going  out  of  the 
world.     A  hundred  scholars  have  had  the  p-x  before 

t  Pers.  Sat.  iii.  ver.  23, 24. 


1$S  OF  THE  EDUCATION' 

they  came  to  read  Aristotle's  lectures  on  temper- 
ance.    Cicero  said,  that  were  he  to  live  over  the 
same  number  of  years  he  had  seen,  he  should  never 
find  time  to  read  the  Lyric  poets  in  the  same  manner 
.as  he  had  the  books  that  treated  of  logic.  *     And 
yet  I  find  these  cavilling  sophisters  still  more  unpro* 
iitable.  The  child  we  are  to  train  up  has  a  great  deal 
less  time  to  spare.     As  he  ought  to  be  under  a  pe- 
dagogue for  the  first  fifteen  or  sixteen  years  of  his 
life,  the  remainder  of  it  should  be  spent  in  action. 
Let  us  therefore  employ  so  short  a  space  of  time  in 
\    the  instructions  that  are  necessary.     Away  with  the 
crabbed  subtleties  of  logic;    they  are  abuses  by 
I    which  our  lives  can-  never  be  amended;  take  the 
;    plain  discourses  of  philosophy ;  learn  *  to  choose  and 
;    ri^tly  to  apply  them ;   they  are  more  easy  to  be 
understood  than  one  of  Boccacc's  novels :  a  child, 
,/     just  come  from  its  nurse,  is  much  more  capable  of 
coniprehending  such  plain  philosophy,  than  of  learn- 
ing to  read  or  write.      Pnilosopny  has  discourses 
\     as  proper  for   the   rising  generation,    as  fi>r  old 
I    age. 
Aristotle  8      I  am  of  Plutarch's  opinion,  that  Aristotle  did  not 
the?Mtr!ic-^^  much  troublc  his  great  disciple  with  the  knack  of 
tioo  of  A-  ibrming  syllogisms,  or  with  the  eleipents  of  geome- 
{jeGrwu.  ^y^  ^  i°  furnishing  him  with  good  precepts  concern- 
ing valour,  magnanimity,  temperance,  and  the  con- 
tempt of  fear ;  and,  with  this  Ammunition,  sent  him, 
whilst  he  was  but  a  boy,  with  no  more  than  S0,000 
foot,  4000  horse,  and  42,000  crowns,  to  conquer  the 
world.     As  fi^r  the  other  arts  and  sciences,  Alexan- 
der, he  said,  honoured  them  much,  and  commend- 
ed their  excellency,  but  was  not  so  much  delighted 
with  them,  as  to  be  tempted  with  e^  desire  of  re* 
I       ducing  them  to  practice : 

■  Petite  hinCf  juvenesque  senes^ue^ 

Finem  onimo  certum^  miserisqiie  viatica  canis,f 

*  Tliis  is  taken  entirely  from  Seneca,  Epist.  491 
f  Pers.  Sat.  v.  ver,  64,  66. 


OF  CHILDREN.  J  §9 

'  May  to  this  lesson  youog  and  old  attend. 
And  form  their  mmds  to  sonie  sure  aim  and  end. 
Which  in  old  age  will  solid  comfort  send. 

Just  96  Epicurus  said,  in  the  beginning  of  his  letter 
to  Meniceus,^  that  neither  the  youagest  should  re- 
fuse to  philosophise,  nor  the  oldest  grow  weary  of  it. 
He  that  does  otherwise,  seems  tacitly  to  infer,  either 
that  it  is  not  yet  time  to  live  happily,  or  that  the  sea- 
son for  it  is  past.  .  I  would  not,  however,  have  the 
youth  confined  to  his  book  as  to  a  prison,  nor  aban- 
doned to  the  peevishness  and  melancholy  temper  of 
a  passionate  schoolmaster.  I  would  not  have  his 
spirits  broke  by  being  tormented  and  used  as  some 
are,  like  pack-horses,  fourteen  or  fifteen  hours  a-day. 
Neither  should  I  think  it'pff<^er,  when,  by  reason  of 
a  solitary  and  melancholy  disposition,  he  appears  to 
be  immoderately  studious  of  books,  that  he  should 
be  indulged  in  tnat  humour,  because  it  renders  him 
unfit  for  civil  conversation,  and  diverts  him  from 
better  employments.  How  many  men.  have  I  seen, 
in  my  time,  totally  brutified  by  an  intemperate  thirst 
after  knowledge !  Cameades  was  so  besotted  with  it, 
that  he  did  not  give  himself  time  so  much  as  to  comb 
his  head,  or  pare  his  nails. t  Neither  would  I  have 
the  generous  temper  of  the  pupil  spoiled  by  the  inci- 
vility or  barbarity  of  that  of  another.  The  French 
wisdom  has  been  anciently  proverbial,  for  a  wisdom 
that  sprouted  out  early,  but  soon  faded.  Indeed, 
we  still  see  there  are  none  so  hopeful  as  the  little 
children  of  France,  but  they  commonly  disappoint 
the  expectation  that  has  been  formed  of  them,  and 
when  they  are  grown  up  to  be  men  arc  eminent  for 
nothing.  I  have  heard  men  of  good  understanding 
say,  that  the  colleges  they  are  sent  to,  of  which  there 
are  abundance,  make  them  such  blockheads. 

As  to  our  young  gentleman,  a  closet,  a  garden,  !%iJo«4>- 
the  table,  his  bed,  and  company,  morning  and  even-jJ^ni^S^ 

*  Diog.  Laerty  lib.  x.  sect.  1^2. 

f  Diogenes  Laertius  in  the  life  of  Cameades,  111?.  U  sect.  6S. 


190  OF  THE  EDUCATION 

manDertjting,  all  hoUTs  should  be  the  same,  and  all  places 
ijMciiver  alike  serve  for  his  study ;  for  philosophy,  which,  as 
the  improver  of  his  judgment  and  manners,  should 
be  his  principal  lesaon,  is  active  every  where.  The; 
orator  Isocrates,  being  intreated,  at  a  feast,  to  dis^ 
course  of  his  art,  all  the  company  thought  he  gave 
a  right  answer,  when  he  said,*  It  is  not  now  a  time 
to  do  what  I  can  do,  and  that  which  is  now  the  time 
to  do,  I  cannot  do.  For  to  make  harangues  or  rhe^ 
toricfiJ  dissertations  inacompanymet  togedier  to  laugh 
and  make  good  cheer,  would  have  rendered  it  a  very 
disagreeable  medley.  But  as  to  philosophy,  that  part 
of  it  especially  which  treats  of  man,  ana  of  his  offices 
and  duties,  it  has  been  the  common  opinion  of  all  wise 
men,t  that,  for  the  relish  of  conversation,  it  ought 
not  to  be  banished  from  sports  and  entertainments^ 
And  Plato,  having  invited  philosophy  to  be  a  guest 
at  his  banquet,  we  find  in  how  gentle  a  manner,  ac- 
commodated both  to  time  and  place,  he  entertained 
the  company,  though  in  a  discourse  of  the  sublimest 
and  the  most  salutary  nature : 

jEqu}  pauperihis  prodesiy  loatpletihus  c^cpt}^ 
.^Kju^  neglectum  pueris  senibusqve  nocelnt,X 

Whose  precepts  rich  and  poor  alike  engage, 
But^  if  neglecied^  hurt  both  youth  and  age. 

By  this  method  of  instruction  the  pupil  will  not 

have  so  much  idle  time  upon  his  hands  as  others. 

But  as  walking  to  and  fro  in  a  gallery,  though  the 

steps  be  three  times  as  many,  does  not  tire  us  so 

much  as  when  we  walk  the  same  number  of  paces  in 

a  journey,  so  our  lesson,  falling  accidentally  into  our 

way,  without  any  obligation  of  time  and  place,  and 

mixing  itself  in  all  our  actions,  will  insinuate  itself 

insensibly. 

The  cxer.       Evcu  cxcrciscs  and  recreations  ought  to  constitute 

body^u^a  great  part  of  study,  such  as  running,  wrestling 

aocxcemai  music,   dancing,  hunting,   riding,   and  fencing,    f 

*Plutarch,  inhisTableTalkJib.  Iq.  1.  f  Idem,  ib^ 

%  Hor.  lib.  i.  epitt  1»  ver.  25, 26. 


I 


•  OP  childhek.  191 

would  have  care  taken  of  his  external  deportment  decorum, 
«nd  mein,  and  of  the  setting  off  his  person  at  thea^fSi/part 
>.    same  time  with  his  mind.     It  is  not  a  soul  nor  a  ^^  *»»««««*»- 
J  body  alone  that  we  are  training  up,  but  a  man ;  and^^*"°* 
we  ought  not  to  divide  him  into  two  parts.  As  Plato 
says,  the  one  is  not  to  be  trained  up  without  the 
other,  but  they  must  be  made  to  draw  together  like 
a  pair  of  horses  harnessed  to  the  same  carriage.   If  we 
attend  to  him,  does  he  not  seem  to  require  more  time 
and  care  for  the  exercises  of  the  body,  and  to  think 
that  the  mind  exercises  itself  too  at  the  same  time  ? 

As  to  the  rest,  this  method  of  education  ought  tochiidroii 
be  mildly  conducted,  not  like  our  modem  pedagogues, ^^JJ„"jJJf* 
*who,  instead  of  alluring  children  to  their  learning,.?<i  to  ittidy 
correct,  or  at  least  frighten  them  with  nothing  bjut^^**^^'''*^* 
rods  and  ferulas,  horror  and  cruelty.  Away  with 
this  force !  this  violence !  there  is  nothing,  in  my 
opinion,  so  much  discourages  and  stupifies  a  lad  of  a 
good  disposition.  If  you  desire  that  he  should  be 
afraid  of  shame  and  chastisement,  do  not  harden 
him  to  them.  Inure  him,  as  much  as  you  will,  to 
sweat  and  cold,  to  wind  and  sun,  and  to  dangers  that 
he  ought  to  despise.  Wean  him  from  all  effeminacy 
and  delicacy  in  clothes  and  bedding,  in  eating  and  in 
drinking.  Use  him  to  every  thing  that  he  may  not 
be  a  rake  and  a  fop,  butAhaJ&L-StiwigJad  I  was 
ever  of  this  opinion  from  a  child,  anaemic  so  still. 
But,  amongst  other  things,  I  never  liked  the  manage- 
ment in  most  of  our  colleges,  whose  error,  perhaps, 
might  not  have  been  so  mischievous,  if  they  had 
indined  to  the  indulgent  side.  They  are  really  so 
many  cages  in  which  youth  are  shut  up  as  prisoners, 
who  are  therein  taught  to  be  debauched,  by  being  pu- 
nished before  they  become  so.  Do  but  go  thither 
just  as  their  exercises  are  over,  you  hear  nothing  but 
the.  cries  of  children  under  the  smart  of  correction, 
and  the  bdlowiqg  noise  of  the  masters  raging  with  ^ 
passion.  How  can  such  tender,  timorous  souls  be 
tempted  to  love  their  lesson  by  those  ruby-faced 
guides,  .with  wrath  in  their  aspects,  and  the  scourge 


192  Of  the  EDUCATlOlrf 

in  their  hands  ?  A  wicked  and  pernicious  forna  of 
proceedmgT  ftiJw  much  more  decent  would  it  be  to 
see  the  forms  on  which  the  boys  sit,  strewed  with 
flowers  and  green  leaves,  than  with  the  bloody  twigs 
of  willows?  I  should  choose  to  have  the  pictures  of 
joy  and  gladness  in  the  schools,  together  with  Flora 
and  the  graces,  as  the  philosopher  Speusippus  *  had 
in  his;  that  where  their  profit  is,  there  might  be 
their  pleasure.  The  viands  that  are  wholesome  for 
children  ought  to  be  sweetened  with  sugar,  and  tliose 
that  are  hurtful  to  Aem  made  as  bitter  as  gall.  It 
is  wonderful  to  see  how  careful  Plato  is  in  his  laws 
about  the  gaiety  and  pastimes  of  the  youth  of  his  city, 
and  how  he  expatiates  upon  their  races,  games,  soligs, 
vaulting,  and  dancing,  of  which,  he  savs,  the  ancients 
gave  the  conduct  and  patronage  to  the  gods  Apollo 
and  Minerva,  and  to  the  ^uses.  He  lays  down  not 
less  than  a  thousand  rules  for  his  exercises ;  but  as  to 
the  lettered  sciences  he  insists  very  little  upon  them, 
and  seems  to  recommend. poetry  in  particular  only 
for  the  sake  of  the  music. 
Every  All  odducss*  and  singularity  in  our  manners  and 

J^^"ruV  of  conditions  ought  to  be  avoided,  as  an  enemy  to 
humour  gocicty.  Who  would  not  be  astonished  to  hear  that 
«»nUied.  Demoplioou,  steward  to  Alexander,  sweated  in  the 
shade,  and  shivered  in  tjie  sun  ?  t  I  have  seen  per- 
sons that  have  run  faster  from  the  smell  of  apples  than 
from  gunshot ;  others  that  have  been  frightened  at  a 
mouse ;  others  that  vomited  at  the  sight  of  cream, 
and  some  that  have  done  the  like  at  the  imaldng  of  a 
feather-bed,  as  Germanicus,  who  could  not  bear  the 
sight  nor  the  crowing  of  a  cock.  I  will  not  deny 
but,  perhaps,  there  may  have  been  some  occult 
Cause  of  this  aversion  j  but,  I  think,  if  it  was  applied 
to  in  time,  it  might  be  extinguished.  Instruction 
has  so  prevailed  in  this  respect  upon  me  (though  not 
without  some  care  upon  my  part),  that,  beer  ex* 

'  *  Diogenes  Laertius,  in  the  life  of  Speusippus,  lib.  It.  secL  1% 
t  SextuB  Empyricus  Pyrrh.  Hypot  lib.  L  cap.  li,  p.  17. 


OF  CHILDREK.      ^  193 

cepted,    my  appetite  is  reconciled  to  all  eatables^; 

indiffereftt^ -^       -~*™^ 

^  Whii^  the  liodies  of  youth  are  siTpple,  they  ought  They  ought 
to  be  bent  to  all  fashions  and  customs;  and  provided  ^.t^*^*^ 
the  appetite  and  the  will  can  be  kept  within  due  aii  cottons, 
bounds,  a  young  man  may  be  safely  rendered  fit  for  co^w 
all  nation^  and  compaoieB^  even  to  irregularity  and  with  them 
excess,  if  need  be,  that  is  in  compliance  to  custom.  JJ"^^^"^ 
Let  him  be  able  to  do  every  thing,  but  love  to  do 
nothing  that  is  not  good.    Even  the  philosophers^  do 
not  commend  Calisthenes  for  losing  the  favour  of 
his  master,   Alexander  the  Great,   by  refusing  to 
drink  with  him  glass  for  glass.     Let  the  pupil  laugh, 
play,  and  carouse  with  his  prince ;  nay,  I  would  have 
him  in  such  debauches  to  oe  too  hard  fi>r  his  compa- 
Bions  in  ability  and  vigour,  and  that  he  may  not 
forbear  doing  mischief^  either  for  want  of  strengthi 
or  of  knowledge  how  to  do  it»  but  &t  want  of  th« 
will*    Multum  interesty  utrum  peceare  quis  nolity  aut 
nemat  :•    "  There   is  a  wide   difierence  b^wixt 
^'  refusing  to  do  evil,  and  not  knowing  how  to  do 
^^  if     t  thought  I  passed  a  compliment  upon  a 
nobleman  as  free  from  these  excesses  as  any  man  in 
France,  by  asking  him  before  a  great  deal  of  very 
good  company,  how  often  he  got  drunk  in  Germany 
mr  the  aaxe  of  managing  the  king's  business  there  ? 
He  took  the  compliment  as  it  was  really  intended, 
and  made  answer,  three  times;  of  which,  withal,  he 
gave  us  the  particular  history.     I  know  some,  who^ 
for  want  of  tnis  faculty,  have  been  at  a  great  loss  in 
negotiating  with  that  nation.    I  have  oflen,  with 
great  admiration,  reflected  upon  the  wonderfUl  con- 
stitution of  Alcibiades,  who  so  easily  could  transform 
himself  to  such  different  manners,    and  customs, 
without  prejudice  to  his  health ;  one  while  outstrip- 
ping the  excessive  expense  and  pomp  of  the  Persians, 
and  at  other  times  the  austerity  and  frugaUfy  of  th6 

*  Stneca,  Epist.  90» 
VOL,  !•  O 


194  OF  THE  EDUCATION 

Laceddsmonians ;  as  reformed  in  Sparta,  as  voluptuous 
in  Ionia  •  ^ 

Qmnis  Aristippum  decuii  color^  pi  stahis^  et  res.* 

Old  Aristippus  every  drees  became, 

In  every  state  and  circumstance  the  some, 

I  would  have  my  pupil  to  be  siich  a  one» 

Qiiem  duplici  panno  paiientia  yelat, 

*    MiraboTj  vita?  via  st  conversa  decebit. 

Personamqueferet  rum  inconcinntis  utrumque.f 

But  that  a  man,  whom  patience  taught  to  wear 
A  coat  that's  patch'd,  should  evep  learn  to  bear 
A  change  of  life  with  decency  and  ease. 
May  justly,  I  confess,  our  wonder  raised 
Yet  he  in  ev'ry  character  can  please^ 

Tliese  are  my  lessons ;  and  he  who  puts  them  in 
practice  will  be  a  greater  gainer  than  he  who  only 
knows  them  in  theoiy.  If  you  see  him,  you  hear 
him  }  if  you  hear  him,  you  see  him,  God  forbid, 
says  one  in  Plato,  that  to  philosophise  should  be  only 
to  lekrn  mapy  things,  and  to  treat  of  the  arts.  Hatic 
antpUssimam  omnium  artium  bene  Vivendi  disciplinanij 
wta  magis  quam  Uteris  persequuH  sunt  A  **  It  is 
**  rather  by  their  living  well,  than  their  learning, 
^  that  they  have  devoted  themselves  to  the  most 
"  extensive  of  all  arts,  the  discipline  of  a  good  life." 
Xeo,  prince  of  the  Phliasians,]!  asking  Heraclides 
Ponticus,  what  art  or  science  he  made  profession  of? 
I  know,  said  he,  neither  art  nor  science,  but  I  am 
a  philosopher.  One  renroaching  Diogenes,  that, 
being  ignorant,  he  should  pretend  to  philosophy: 
I  therefore  pretend  to  it,  said  he,  so  much  more  to 

*  Hon  Epist.  icvii.  lib.  1,  ver.  23.        f  Idem,  ib.  ver.  25,  26, 29, 
\  Cic  Tusc.  Quaest.  lib.  iv.  cap.  3. 

II  It  was  not  Heraclides,  but  Pythagoras  that  returned  this  an? 
fwer  to  Leo ;  and  it  was  from  a  book  of  Heraclides,  a  disciple  of 
Platol  that  Cicero  'quotes  this  passage,  as  he  says  in  his  Tusc. 
Quaest.  lib.  v.  ciqp.  3.  Plato  was  not  born  till  above  100  years  after 
f  ythagoras. 


*  6f  children.  195 

tjhe  purpose.*  Hegesias  desired  that  he  wouid  read 
a  certain  book  to  mm.  You  are  a  pleasant  compa- 
nion, said  he  to  him,  you  choose  figs  that  are  true  and 
natural,  and  not  those  that  are  painted ;  why  do  not 
you  all  choose  exercises  that  are  natural  and  genuine^ 
rather  than  those  that  are  prescribed  i 

He  will  not  so  much  get  his  lesson  by  heart  as  byTbe  pn^ 
practice.    We  shall  discover  if  there  is  prudence  in-*J^„^ 
nis  enterprises,  if  there  be  goodness  and  justice  in««k« 
his  deportment,  judgment  and  grace  in  his  speaking,.^^^ 
fortitude  in  his  sickness,  modesty  in  his  merriment,;*' Jy  "• 
temperance  in  his  pleasures,  order  in  his  economy,     ***" 
and  indifference  in  his  palate,  as  to  flesh,  fish,  wine, 
or  water.     Qui  disciptinam  suam  nan  oUentatkmem 
scientia^  sed  legem  vita  puUtj  quique  obtemperet  ipse 
sibi^  et  decretis  pareatA    "  Who  considers  nis  leam«' 
^  ing  not  as  a  vain  ostentation  of  science,  but  as  a 
*^  rule   of  life,   and  who  obeys  its  decrees,    and 
**  observes  its  regimen."    Hie  conduct  of  our  lives 
is  the  true  mirror  of  our  oonversation.     When  one 
asked  Zeupidamus,t  why  the  Lacedaemonians  com* 
mitted  their  constitutions  of  chivalry  to  writing,  and 
did  not  give  them  to  their  youth  to  read  i  he  made 
answer.   Because  they  chose  to  accustom  ihem  to 
action,    ratiier   than   to  amuse  them  with  word& 
With  such  as  Cliis,   compare  one  of  those  college 
Xatinists,  who  has  thrown  away  fifteen  or  sixteen 
years  in  <Hily  learning  to  speak.     The  world  is 
nothing  but  babble,  and  I  never  yet  saw  the  man 
yho  did  not  ratber  tdlf  more  thaTfi^"Ee"oug^     andT' 
yetlialf  of  our  time  is  consumed  this  wayT  'We  are 
subjected  four  or  five  years  to  learn  the  meaning  of 
words,  and  to  tack  them  together  into  clauses;  as 
many  more  to  distribute  one  copious  discourse  into 
four  or  five  parts ;  and  the  remaining  five  years,  at 
least,   to  learn  succinctly  to  mix  and  interweave 

*  Diogenei  Laertiiu^  in  the  life  of  Diogenes  the  Cynict  libu  v« 
Mct.48. 

f  Cic  Tiuc  Quaest.  lib.  f i.  tap.  4. 
^  Plutarcbj  in  the  notable  ssyings  of  the  ] 

02 


Iffi  OF  THE  EDUCATION 

tiiem  dler  a  subtle  inanner.    Let  us  leave  suc^ 
a  tsifk  to  those  wliQ  make  it  their  particidar  pFo* 
fession. 
thf'iitory       Going  one  day  to  Orleans,  I  met,  in  the  plain  oft 
dl^jj^goe?^  this  side  of  Clcry,  with  two  pedagc^es  travelling 
^h«  went  towards  Bourdeaux,  the  w>e  above  faty  paces  beforet 
deanzT    the  Other;   and  at  soini  distance  behind  I  saw  a 
troop  of  horse,  with  the  commander  at  their  head, 
who  was  the  late  Monsieur  the  coimt  de  la  Rouche* 
foucaut :   one  of  my  companions   inquired  of  the 
foremost  of  the  two  pedants  who  that  gentleman  was 
that  followed  him,  who,  not  having  perceived  tlie 
train  in  their  rear,  and  thinking  that  be  meant  his  com^ 
panion,  answered  pleasantly,  ^'  He  is  not  a  gentle 
^^  man,  sir,  he  is  a  grammarian,  and  I  am  a  logician/^ 
A  youth  of     Now  ^e,  who  on  the  contriiry  do  not  aim  to  form 
mfiy  ousht  a  grammarian  nor  logician,  but  a  gentleman,  leave 
*''rrfiiiT*''^'  them  to  mispend  their  time ;  our  business  lies  ano- 
iustructed  thcr  way :  for  let  our  pupil  be  well  furnished  with 
knowledge  things,  words  will  flow  but  too  fast ;   he  will  drag 
of  thin^    them  after  him^  if  they  are  not  ready  to  follow.    I 
^oilisf     '^^'^^  known  some  make  excuses  for  want  of  a  cs^a^ 
city  to  express  themselves,  and  pretend  to  have  a 
great  many  fine  tlioughts,  but,  lor  want  of  elocu* 
tion,  are  not  able  to  utter  them ;  but  this  is  a  flam* 
Woiild  you  know  what  I  think  of  it  ?    I  take  their 
thoughts  to  be  nothing  but  shadows  of  some  irregu- 
lar conceptions  which  they  are  not  able  to  connect 
and  clear  up  in  their  own  minds,  por  by  consequence 
to  bring  them  out»    They  do  not  yet  themselves  un- 
derstand what  they  would  be  at ;  and  if  you  obser\'e 
how  thejr  hesitate  upon  the  point  of  parturition,  you 
will  soon  perceive  that  their  labour  is  not  to  a  de- 
livery, but  merely  in  conception,  and  that  they  are 
still  licking  the  imperfect  embryo.    For  my  part,  I 
am  of  opinion,  and  Socrates  lays  it  down  as  a  rule, 
that  whoever  has  a  sprightly  and  clear  imagination, 
will  be  able  to  express  it  well  enough  in  some  dialect 
or  oth^r,  and  if  duipb,  by  signs : 


Verhaiqim  fraoiaamrem  won  inviia  sequeniwr.^ 

When  onoe  a  tiling  con^v'dis  in  th€  mind, 
Woixls  to  ea^MresB  it  a  quick  passage  find. 

And  as  another  says  as  poetically  in  prose,  'Cum  res 
animum  occupavercj  verba  ambiunt  ;t  ^  When  the 
**  mind  is  once  master  of  a  thing,  words  are  eager 
•*  to  utter  it  :*'  and  this  other,  ipsce  res  verba  ra- 
piunt  :t  "  Things  themselves  draw  out  words  after 
•*  them/*  He  knows  nothing  of  ablative,  conjunc- 
tive, subjunctive,  nor  of  grammar,  no  more  than 
his  lackey  or  a  iishwoman  at  the  Petit  Pont ;  and  yet 
their  tongues  will  run  till  you  ate  tired  of  heanng 
them,  and,  perhaps,  will  trip  as  little  in  their  lan- 
guage as  the  best  master  of  arts  in  France.  He  knows 
no  rhetoric,  nor  how  to  word  a  preface,  so  as  to 
sooth  a  reader,  nor  is  he  solicitous  to  know  it.  In 
truth,  all  this  decoration  of  painting  is  easily  ob- 
scured by  the  lustre  of  simple  and  blunt  truth.  Such 
fine  flourishes  serve  only  to  amuse  the  vulgar,  who 
are  not  able  to  digest  K)od  thai  is  more  substantial 
and  strengthening,  as  A&r  plainly  shows  in  Tacitus.  || 
The  ambassadors  of  Saraos  came  to  Cleomenes,  king 
of  Sparta,  prepared  with  a  long  and  elegant  oration, 
to  incite  him  to  a  war  against  the  tyrant  Polycrates, 
who,  after  he  had  heard  them  with  patience,  gave 
them  this  short  answer,  § "  As  to  the  preamble,  I 
**  remember  it  not,  nor  consequently  the  middle  of 
**  your  speech,  and  as  to  your  conclusion  I  will  do 
"  nothing  that  you  desire/*  A  fine  answer  this,  me- 
thinks,  and  the  speech-makers  were,  no  doubt,  quite 
confounded.  And  how  fared  it  with  the  other  ?  The 
Athenians  were  to  choose  one  out  of  two  architects 
lo  be  the  director  of  a  great  fabric,  the  one  of  which^ 

*  Hor.  Art.  Poet,  ver.  811.    f  Sencc.  Contr.  1.  lii.  in  the  Preface. 

X  Cic.  'de  Fintbos,  lib.  iii.  cffiD.  5. 

II  In  a  DiidogHe,  intituled,  De  Cans©  eomipta  Eloquentiae,  the 
•uthor  of  which  is  not  very  well  known.  Several  of  the  learned,  OH 
well  as  Montaigne,  ascribe  it  to  Tacitus,  others  to  Qointilian,  &c 

^  Plutarch,  in  the  notsdble  sayings  of  the  Lacedsen^oniapi. 


196;  OF  THE  EDUCATION 

an  affected  fellow,  offered  his  service  in  a  fine  pro» 
meditated  harangue  upon  the  subject,  and  b^  his 
oratory  inclined  the  suffirage  of  the  people  in  his  &- 
vour;  but  the  other,  only  made  use  of  these  few 
words,  *•  Ye  lords  of  Athens,  what  this  man  hath 
^*  only  said,  I  will  perform/**  When  Cicero  was 
in  the  highest  reputation  for  his  eloquence,  he  was 
admired  by  many;  but  Cato,t  making  a  jest  of  it, 
only  said,  "  We  have  a  pleasant  consul."  Whether 
it  goes  before  or  afler,  a  good  sentence,  or  a  fine 
passage,  is  always  in  season ;  if  it  neither  coheres 
with  what  went  before,  nor  follows  after,  it  is 
however  good  in  itself.  I  am  none  of  those  who 
think  that  good  rhyine  makes  a  good  poem.  Let 
the  bard  niake  a  short  syllable  long  if  he  will,  it  is 
a  mktter  of  no  moment ;  if  there  be  invention  in  his 
piece,  and  if  wit  and  judgment  have  acted  their 
parts  well  in  it,  I  will  style  him  a  good  poet,  though 
a  bad  rhymer: 

EmuncUB  natUy  durus  camponere  versus.X 
His  wit  is  delicate,  though  harsh  his  veise. 

Let  a  man,  says  Horace,  strip  such  a  poem  as  he 
there  speaks  of,  viz.  that  of  Ennius,  of  all  its  con« 
nections  and  measures, 

Tempora  ceriOj  modosque,  et  quad  prius.ordine  verbum  est, 
'     Pasteriusfaciat,  frcBponens  uUima  primis^ 

hwenias  etiam  disjecii  membra  poetcB.%  .> 

*  Plutarch^  in  .bis  instruetioDsYor  those  who  manage  state  atiurs. 

f  Montaigne  gives  top  general  a  latitude  to  Cato's  reflectioDs, 
though  perhaps  he  did  so  for  the  purpose.  Cato  did  not  ridicule 
Cicero's  eloquence  in  the  general,  out  only  his  abuse  of  it  .while  he 
was  consul.  When  he  was  pleacQng  one  day  for  Murena  against 
CatOy  he  fell  to  ridiculing  the  gravest  principles  of  the  stoic  philo» 
fiophy  in  too  coinic  a  manner,  and  consequently  not  becoming  the 
august  station  he  then  was  in.  This  is  what,  drew  Cato's  answer 
above-mentioned,  which  was  more  stingmg  than  all  the  inyeptives 
which  Cicero  had  so  lately  cast  at  this  great  man»  who  was  much 
more  a  stoic  by  his  manners,  than  by  his  discpurses*  See  Plutarch, 
in  the  Xife  of  Cato,  ch.  6  of  Ainyot^s  translation. 

X  Hpr.  Sat^iv.  IH).  L  ver.  8.  ^  Hor.lib.  i.  sat*  iv.  ver.  5S* 


CM?  CHIL0BSlf  •  199 

,^  ^t  tense^  and  mood,  and  words  be  ^11  misplac'di 
Thos.e  last  that,  should  be  first,  those  first  the  last ; 
'Though  all  things  be  thus  shuffled  out  of  frame,  • 
You'll  find  the  po^'s  fragments  hot  tb  blame. 

tie  will  nevertheless  acknowledge  thai  the  very 
scraps  theniselves  are  excellent  This  was  the  inu 
port  of  Menander's  answer,  who,  when  the  day  was 
at  hand  on  which  he  had  promised  a  comedy,  being 
reoroved  that  he  made  nb  great  progress  in  it,  said, 
**  It  was  composed  and  ready,  all  except  the  verses."  * 
Having  contrivedthe  acts  and  the  scenes  in  his  fancy, 
he  made  little  account  of  the  rest. 

Since  Ronsard  and  Bellay  have  brought  our  French  lofmtion 
poetry  into  reputation,  every  little  dabbler  in  it,  for  ci,!!li  parT 
aught  I  see,  swells  his  words  as  high,  and  makes  his  '^^'^  p>^« 
cadences  very  near  as  harmonious,  as  they  did.   Plus  "^  ^^^^^^* 
sonatj  quam  valet:\    ^^  More  sound  than  sense.'' 
As  to  low  life,  there  were  never  so  many  poetasters 
as  now ;  but  though  they  find  it  no  hard  task  to 
rhyme  as  musically  as  they,  yet  they  fall  infinitely 
short  in  imitating  the  noble  descriptions  of  the  one, 
and  the  .curious  inventions  of  the  other. 

But  what  shall  our  young  gentleman  do  if  he  be  a  youth  of 
attacked  with  the  sophistical  subtlety  of  sotpe  syllo- fentage*' 
gism.     A  gammon  of  bacon  makes  a  man  drink,  ougbt'td 
drink  quenches  thirst ;    ergo  the  bacon  quenches  pwst'i^i*^ 
thirst.     Why,  let  him  laugh  at  it,  and  it  will  be  more  ««»>tie''»". 
discretion  to  do  so^  than  to  answer  it,  Subtilius  est 
contempsisse  quam  solvere.X    Or  let  him  borrow  this 
pleasant   counter-policy    of  Aristippus,  §     "  Why 
^^  should  I  unbind  him,  who,  bound  as  he  is,  gives 
"  me  so  much  perplexity  ?**  A  person  endeavouring 
to  pose  Cleanthes   with    some   logical    subtleties, 
Chrysippus   took  him  up  short,  sayings  ||    Reserve 
your  juggling  tricks  to  play  with  chil(&en,  and  do 

^  Plutarch,  in  his  tracts  whether  the  Athenians  wore  more  emi- 
nent in  arms  than  in  letters/  cap.  4. 

f  Senec.  Epist.  40.  ibidem,  Epist.  49/ 

§  Diogenes  Laertius,  in  the  life  of  Aristippus,  lih.  ii.  sect.  70. 

y  Diogenes  Lacrtius,  in  the  Lifb  of  Cbrysippus,  l^b.  viL  sect.  188. 


not  let  t^em  draw  aside  the  serious  l^ottghts  of  a 
man  in  years.  If  these  ridiculous  subtleties,  con-- 
tortaj  et  hculeata  sophismata  :*  diose  perplexed  and 
crabbed  sophisms,  as  Cicero  calls  them,  are  designed 
to  make  him  believe  a  lie,  they  are  dangerous ;  but 
if  they  answer  no  other  purpose  than  only  to  make 
him  laugh,  I  do  not  see  why  he  need  to  be  fortified 
against  them.  Some  are  so  silly  as  to  go  a  mile  out 
of  their  way  to  hook  in  a  fine  term  or  phrase.  Aut 
qui  non  verba  rebtis  aptanty  sed  res  extrinsecus  arces^ 
$unty  quibus  verba  cotroeniant  :f  **  Either  they  do 
••*  not  adapt  their  terms  to  their  subject,  or  ramble 
**  from  their  subject  in  quest  of  things  to  which  the 
«*  words  inay  agree.'*  And,  as  another  says,  Qm 
alkujus  verbi  decore  placentis  v^centur  ad  idj  quod 
non  propo^uerant  scribere  :t  "  Who,  charmed  by  some 
"  word  that  pleases  them,  eiigage  in  a  subject  whidi 
**  they  had  no  design  to  treat  of."  For  my  part,  I 
choose  to  twist  in  a  fine  sentence,  to  tack  it  to  my 
subject,  rather  than  to  untwist  the  thread  of  my 
subject,  by  deviating  'Gtom  ft  in  quest  of  such  sen- 
tence. On  the  contrary,  words  are  to  serve  and  fol- 
low a  man's  purpose,  and  let  the  Gascon  language 
take  place  where  the  French  will  not  do.  I  womd 
have  the  imagination  of  the  hearer  entirely  engrossed 
by  the  subject,  although  the  words  are  forgot.  The 
style  I  am  fond  of  is  natural  and  plain,  both  in 
speaking  and  writing;  a  style  that  is  nervous  and 
concise,  not  so  delicate  and  fiorid,  as  masterly  and 
'forcible.  Hac  demum  sdpiet  dictio^  qutz  feriet :% 
"  The  eicpression  which  touches  the  mind  will  in- 
'•*  fallibly  please  it : "  rather  intricate  than  long- 
winded  periods,  free  fi-om  affectation ;  not  stiff  nor 
disjointed  ;  not  pedantic,  nor  monk,  nor  lawyer-like, 
'but  rather  *soldier-like,    as  Suetonius  calls  that  of 

'    •  €ic;  AcaH.  Queest.  lib.  iv.  cap.  24?.  f  QwintS.  lib.  viil 

X  Scnec.  Epist  59. 

^  The  Latin  verse  is  taken  from  a  sort  of  epitaph  in  Lucan,  which 
is  to  be  found  entire  in'  the  Supplement  to  rabricius't  BibUotheca 
liatinai  p»  167« 


OF  CHXLBXfiK.  201 

Ji^tts  Cesar;  yet  why  he  called  it  so,  I  cannot  weS 
<:onceive. 

I  have  been  ready  enough  to  imitate  that  loose  Mon.^ 
&^ion,  which  is  oDservable  iii  the  dress  of  our  ^^'i^ce 
young  fellows;  to  wear  my  dook  flung  upon  one  from  au«c 
shoulder^  my  cap  on  onfe  side,  one  stocking  looser  ^•^^^^^^ 
thaii  the  otiaier,  which  represents  a  haughty  disdain 
of  the  forei^  ornaments,  and  a  n^igence  of  art, 
which  I  find  of  much  greater  use  in  the  forms  of 
speech.    AU  affectation,  particularly  in  the  French 
gaiety  and  freedom,  is  untN^oming  a  courder,  whose 
dress  ought  to  be  the  model  for  every  gentleman  in 
a  monarchy,  lor  which  reason  an  easy  and  natural 
negligence  does  well.    I  no  more  like  a  piece  of  stuff 
wove,  in  which  the  knots  and  seams  are  to  be  seen^ 
tJian  a  skin  so  ddicate,  that  a  man  may  count  the 
bones  and  veins.     Qua  veritati  operam  dat  <nrutio^ 
incotnposita  fit^  et  simplex^^^^ttis  accurate  loauitur^ 
fim  qui  vult  putidh  loquvA  ^^  Let  the  speech,  tnat  has 
**  truth  for  its  aim,  be  plain  and  artless."     What 
man  strives  to  speak  accurately  without  exposing 
this  affectation  ?  that  sort  of  eloquence  which  makes 
lis  in  love  with  Ourselves,  does  an  injury  to  the  sub- 
ject it  treats  of.     As  in  our  appard  it  is  unmanly 
to  distinguish  ourselves  by  any  singular  garb  that  is 
not  in  the  fashion ;  so  in  language,  to  hunt  for  new 
phrases,    and  unknown    terms,    proceeds    from  a 
scludastic  and  puerile  ambition.  May  I  be  permitted 
-to  use  no  other  terms  but  those  that  will  do  as  well 
4br  the  markets  at  Paris !  Aristophanes,  the  gram- 
marian, undeiistood  nothing  of  the  matter,  when  he 
reproved  Epicurus  for  the  simplicity  of  his  expres- 
sion, and  the  design  of  his  oratory,  which  was  only 
perspicuity  of  language.^     The  imitation  of  speak- 
mg  by  its  own  facility,  immediately  runs  through  a 
.whole  nation ;   but  tne  imitation  of  judging  and 
inventing  words  is  not  so  quick  in  its  progress.    The 

•  Seneca,  Ep.  40.  t  Wem,  Epist  75-  * 

%  Diogenes  Laeitius»  in  the  life  of  Epicurus,  lib.  x.  sect  13« 


90S  OF  THE  EDUCATIOir 

generality  of  readers,  became  they  have  foubd  a  likft 

robe,  imagine,  very  falsely,  that  tKey  have  a  Iik« 

body ;  whereas  strength  and  sinews  are  not  to  be 

borrowed,  though  the  gloss  and  outward  omametft 

may.     Most  of  those  who  resort  to  •  me,  speak  the 

language  of  my  essays  ;  but  whether  they  have  the 

same  sentiments,  I  know  not.    The  Athenians,  says 

Plato,*  are  eminent  for  speaking  copiouslv  and  ele* 

gantly,  the  Lacedaemonians  concisely,  while  those  of 

Crete  aim  more  at  the  fertility  of  the  imagination^ 

than  the  copiousness  of  language,  and  these  are  the 

best.     Zeno  said,  that  he  had  two  sorts  of  disciples, 

the  one  whom  he  termed  ^ixoxoysc,  curious  to  learn 

things,  and  these  were  his  favourites;    the  others 

Aoyof/xiTf,    who   cared  for   nothing    but  languaffe^ 

[^Stobaus  Serm.  S4.]      This  does  not   mean  that 

speaking  well  is  not  a  fine  and  a  happy  talent,  but 

only  that  it  is  not  so  happy  as  some  consider  it,  and 

J  am  scandalised  that  this  should  engross  our  whole 

*   time.     I  would  fain  understand  my  own  language 

first ;  and  next,  that  of  my  neighbours,  with  whom 

I  most  correspond. 

Ttw^"^      Greek  and  Latin  are  no  doubt  very  fine  accom* 

ranguagi^  plishmcnts,  but  we  purchase  them  at  too  dear  a  rate. 

i^JnS     1  will  here  discover  one  method  whereby,  as  I  my* 

i^tVie»s    self  have  experienced,  they  may  be  had  much  chei^ 

ar^i  wHSiy  ^^»  *"^  ^^^  ^^^  "^^X  make  use  of  it  My  deceased 
takea.  father,  having  made  all  the  inquiry  that  a  man  could 
possibly  do  among  men  of  learning  and  underatand- 
mg  of  an  exact  method  of  education,  was  by  them 
apprised  of  this  inconvenience  which  attended  Uie 
modem  practice ;  and  he  was  told,  that  the  tedious 
time  we  spent  in  learning  the  languages,  which  cost 
the  ancient  Greeks  t  and  Romans  very  little,  if  any, 

*  De  LegibuSy  lib.  i.  p.  572. 

4*  The  antient  Greeksy  more  fortunate  or  wuer  than  the  Romans, 
only  learned  tlieir  own  language;  whereas  the  Romans  conunonfy^ 
joined  the  study  of  Greek  to  that  of  the  Latin  tongue^^and  derived 
almost  all  their  notions  from  the  Greek  books,  both  their  poetry  and 
.theirf)hilosophy  being,  scarce  any  thmg  more  than  trandatiow  from 
the  Greek.     ^ 


OF  CHILDRBir.  303 

was  the  only  reason  why  we  could  not  attain  to  their 
magnanimity  or  knowledge.  I  do  not,  however,  be- 
lieve that  to  be  the  only  cause ;  but  the  expedient 
my  father  found  out  for  this  was,  that  while  I  was  at 
nurse,  and  before  I  began  to  speak,  he  committed 
me,  to  the  care  of  a  German,  who  since  died  a 
&mous  physician  in  France,  tatsily  ignorant  of  our 
language  indeed,  but  very  well  versed  in  the  Latin. 
.  This  gentleman,  whom  he  had  sent  for  out  of  his  uti« 
own  country  on  purpose,  and  to  whom  he  paid  an  S^i*^ 
extraordinary  salary,  had  me  continually  in  his  arms,  before  the 
and  to  him  Were  joined  two  others  of  inferior  learn-  to^^nud 
ing  to  attend  me  by  way  of  relief  to  him;  and  all  with  wW 
these  talked  to  me  in  no  other  language  but  Latin.  *"*^^**^ 
As  to  the  rest  of  his  &mily,  it  was  an  inviolable  rule, 
that  neither  himsell^  nor  my  mother,  nor  the  footman, 
nor  the  chambermaid,  should  speak  any  tiling  in  my 
company  but  such  Latin  words  as  each  had  learnt 
only  to  gabble  with  me.  It  is  not  to  be  imagined 
how  great  an  advantage  this  proved  to  the  whole 
&mily.  My  father  and  mother,  by  this  means, 
learned  Latin  enough  to  understand  it,  and  to  speak 
it  well  enough  to  serve  their  occasions,  as  did^lso 
those  of  the  domestics  who  were  most  attendatit 
upon  me.  To  be  short,  we  latinised  it  to  such  a  de- 
cree, that  it  overflowed  to  all  our  neighbouring  viU 
lages,  where  there  still  remain,  having  established 
themselves  by  custom,  several  Latin  names  of  arti- 
ficers and  their  tools.  As  for  myself,  I  was  above 
six  years  of  age  before  I  understood  either  French, 
or  rerigordin,  any  more  than  Arabic  ;  and  without 
art,  book,  grammar,- or  precept,  without  the  lash, 
and  without  shedding  a  tear,  I  had  learned  to  speak  as 
pure  Latin  as  my  schoolmaster,  for  I  could  not  have 
confounded  nor  corrupted  it.  If,  by  way  of  trial, 
they  were  disposed  to  give  me  a  theme  af):er  the 
college  fashion,  they  gave  it  to  the  others  in  French, 
but  to  me  they  gave  it  in  bad  Latin  that  I  might 
turn  it  into  good.  And  Nicholas  Grouchi,  who 
wrote  De  Comitiis  Romanorum }  William  Guirentes, 


304  dF  THE  EbtJCATION 

wh&  wrote  a  Comment   upon  Aiistode ;   Greorffi 

Buchtinan,  the  great  poet  ot'  Scotlanci;,  and  Marcus 

Antonius  Muretus    (whom  both  IVance  and  Italy 

have  acknowledged  to  be  the  best  orator  of  lus  time), 

my  domestic  preceptors,  have  often  trfd  me,  that,  in 

my  very  childhood,  I  had  this  kngnage  so  ready  and 

fluent,  that  they  were  afraid  to   accost  me  in  it 

Buchanan,  when  I  saw  him  afterwards  in  the  retinue 

of  the  late  Mareschal  de  Brissac,  told  me,  that  he 

\    was  about  to  write  a  treatise  on  tlie  education  of 

;    children,  and  that  he  would  take  the  model  of  it 

fiom  mine :  for  he  was  then  tutor  to  that  count  de 

Brissac,  whom  we  have  since  seen  so  valiant  and 

•     brave  a  gentleman, 

Montaij^ne      As  to  Greek,  of  which  I  know  very  little,  if  any 

G^^k^k    thing*  at  all,  my  father  intended  to  make  me  learn  it 

his  pa*,     by  art,  but  in  a  new  way,  by  the  means  of  recreation 

and  exercise,  tossing  our  declensions  to  and^  fro, 

after  the  manner  of  those  who  learn  arithmetic  and 

Sreometiy,  by  certain  games  on  the  chess-board. 
?or,  amongst  other  things,  he  had  been  advised  to 
make  me  relish  my  learning  and  my  duty  by  an  un- 
forced will,  and  at  my  own  desire,  and  to  train  me 
up  with  all  gentleness  and  freedom,  without  any 
severity  or  constraint,  which,  I  may  say,  he  observed 
so  very  superstitiously,  that,  as  some  are  of  opinion, 
it  disorders  the  tender  brains  of  children  to  awake 
them  by  smrprise  in  the  morning,  and  suddenly  and 
violently  to  snatch  them  from  sleep  (in  which  they 
are  more  profoundly  involved  than  we  are)  he  caused 
me  to  be  waked  out  of  it  by  the  sound  of  some  in- 
strument of  music,  and  I  was  never  without  a  musi- 
cian for  that  purpose.  This  instance  will  be  suf- 
ficient to  form  an  idea  of  the  rest,  as  well  as  to  re- 
commend both  the  prudence  and  the  aifection  of  sd 
good  a  father,  who  is  not  at  all  to  be  blaihed,  if  he 
has  not  reaped  the  fruit  answerable  to  so  exquisite  a 
culture,  of  which  these  two  things  were  the  cause. 
First,  a  barren  and  improper  soil.  For  though  I  wa* 
of  a  strong  and  healthful,  and  of  a  milil  and  Iract^ 


OF  CHILBIiEN.  205' 

able  temper,  I  wa»  withal  so  heavy,  indolent,  and 
sleepy,  that  they  could  not  rouse  me  from  this  stu- 
pidity, not  even  to  play.     What  I  saw,  I  saw  dearly 
enough ;  and,  in  this  lazy  dtsppsitien,  noiuished  bold 
imaginations  and  opinions  above  one  of  my  age.     I 
had  a  slow  genius,  which  made  no  progress  &stet 
than  it  was  led,  a  dull  apprehension,  a  languid  im 
vention,    and,    after  all,    an  incredible   defect  of 
memory ;  so  that  no  wonder,  if  taking  all  this  to-, 
gether,  my  fether  could  extract  nothing  of  value. 
Secondly,  as  they,  who,  impatient  for  the  cure  of  a 
distemper,  submit  to  all  manner  of  advice ;  so  the 
good  man,  being  extremely  fearful  of  failing  in  a 
thing  which  he  had  so  much  at  heart,  suffered  him- 
self at  last  to  be  over-ruled. by  the  common  opinion, 
as  one  fool  always  makes  many,  and,  in  compliance 
with  the  &shion  of  the  time,  having  dismissed  those 
Italians  from  about  him  who  had  given  him  the  &8t 
plans  of  my  educaticm,  he  sent  me,  when  I  was 
about  six  years  of  age,  to  the  college  of  Guienne, 
which  was  very  fburishing  at  that  time,  and  the  be$t 
in  France,  where  he  took  all  possible  care  to  choose 
able  tutors  £»:  me,    and  provide   every  thing  else 
proper  for  iny  education,  m  which  he  made  a  reser- 
vation of  many  particular   forms  contrary  to  the 
practice  of  the  colleges  ;  but,  with  all  these  precau.- 
tions,  it  was  still  a  college.     My  Latin  immediately 
grew  corrupt,  of  which,  by  discontinuance,  I  have 
since  left  all    manner  of  use;    so  that  this  new- 
fashioned  education  was  of  no  other  service  to  me, 
than,  at  my  arrival  there,  to  prefer  me  over  the 
beads  of  others  to  the  first  classes ;    for  at  thirty- 
three  years  old,  when  1  came  from  the  college,  I  bad 
run  through  my  y|;h6le  course  (as  they  call  it),  and, 
in  truth,  without  any  manner  of  improvement  that  I 
can  at  this  time  recollect. 

The  pleasure  I  found  in  the  fables  in  Ovid's  Me-  How  yton^ 
tamorphosis  first  gave  me  a  liking  to  books :  for  when  J^^Jf^^  ^ 
I  was  about  ijeven  or  eight  years  old,  1  stole  from  a  fancy  to 
every  otl^er  pleasure  to  read  them,  forasmuch  as  the  anlhorf/' 


fOe  OP  THE  EDUCAXrOK' 

language  of  this  book  was  my  mother-tongue,  aiid 
that  it  was  the  easiest  book  1  knew,  and  uie  most 
adapted  to  the  capacity  of  my  tender  years.     As  to 
Lancelot  of  the  Lake,  AmadJs  de  Gaul,  Huon  de 
Bourdeaux,     and   such    trumpery,     the  &vourite 
amusements  of  children,  I  had  not  so  much  as  heard 
the  names  of  them  no  more  than  I  yet^  know  the 
contents  of  them,  so  strict  was  the  discipline  I  was 
brought  up  in.    I  was  hereby,  however,  rendered 
the  more  mdifferent  to  the  study  of  the  other  les- 
sons  that  were  prescribed  to  me :  and  here  it  was  my 
singular  advantage^  to  have  a  gentleman  of  good  un- 
derstanding for  my  preceptor,  who  dexterously  con- 
nived at  this  and  other  such  deviations  from  my  task. 
For  by  this  means  I  ran  through  Virgil's  JEndd,  Te- 
rence, Plautus,  and  some  Italian  comedies,  being 
continually  allured  by  the  pleasure  of  the  subject ; 
whereas,  had  he  been  so  unwise  as  to  have  inter- 
rupted me  in  this  coiu^e  of  my  reading,  I  very  be- 
lieve, I  shonld  have  brought  nothing  away  from  the 
college,  but  a  hatred  of  books,  as  almost  all  our 
gentry  do.    But  his  conduct  in  this  matter  was  quite 
discreet,  seeming  to  take  no  notice  of  it;   and  by 
permitting  me  to  indulge  myself  in  these  books  only 
by  stealth  from  any  other  regular  studies,  it  made 
my  appetite  for  them  more  eager.     The  chief  things 
my  £itlier  desired  from  the  endeavours  of  those  to 
whom  he  gave  the  charge  of  me,  were  courtesy  and 
compliance ;  and,  to  say  the  truth,  my  temper  had 
no  other  vice  but  pusillanimity  and  sloth.     There 
/    was  no  danger  o£  my  doing  ill,  but  of  my  doing 
/    nothing.     Nobody  prognosticated  that  I  should  be 
1  wicked,  but  useless ;    they  foresaw  idleness  in  my 
I  nature,  but  not  malice,  and  I  fin^  I  have  turned  out 
'  accordingly.     The  complaints  my  ears  are  tingled 
with  are  such  as  these ;  he  is  idle,  cold  in  the  ofiiccs 
of  a  friend,  and  of  a  relation,  and  in  the  public  of- 
fices too  particular,  and  too  scornful:    the  worst, 
however,  of  his  enemies  do  not  say.  Why  has  he 
not  taken  such  a  thing  ?  Why  has  he  not  paid  such  a 


OF  CHILDREN.  207 

debt?  but.  Why  does  he  not  part  with  this  ?  Why 
does  he  not  give  that  ?  And  1  should  take  it  as  a 
fevour,  that  men  would  expect  no  works  of  superero- 
gation but  such  as  these :  but  they  are  unjust  to 
exact  from  me  what  I  do  not  owe,  and  with  more 
severity  than  is  necessary,  they  impose  upon  them* 
selves  to  pay  their  own  debts.  In  condemning  me 
ibr  this,  they  cancel  the  gratification  of  the  act,  and 
the  gratitude  which  wpuld  be  due  to  me  for  it: 
"whereas  the  doing  a  good  action  ought  to  be  deemed 
of  so  much  the  greater  value  from  my  hands,  by 
reason  I  never  was  under  obligation  to  any  body  for 
a  &;vour.  As  my  fortune  is  my  own,  2  am  the  more 
at  liberty  to  dispose  of  it,  as  I  am  of  my  person  the 
more  it  is  my  own*  Nevertheless,  if  I  was  good  at 
blazoning  my  own  actions,  I  could,  perhaps,  very 
fiurly  repel  these  reproaches,  and  could  give  some  to 
understand,  that  they  are  not  so  much  offended  that 
I  do  not  do  enough,  as  that  I  am  able  to  do  a  great 
deal  more  than  I  do.  Yet,  for  all  this,  my  mind,  at 
the  same  time,  had  secret  and  strong  agitations, 
and  formed  solid  and  clear  judgments  about  those 
objects  it  comprehended,  and  it  alone  digested  them 
without  any  help :  arid,  amongst  other  things,  I  do 
really  believe  it  would  have  been  altogether  incapa- 
ble of  isubmitling  to  force  and  violence.  Shall  I 
Elace  to  this  account  one  faculty  of  my  youth,  viz.  a 
old  countenance,  attended  with  a  smooth  tongue, 
and  a  supple  behaviour,  applicable  to  the  parts  which 
I  was  to  undertake  ?  For, 

jiUer  al  undecimo  turn  me  vix  reperat  annus.* 

I  was  but  just  entered  into  my  twelfth  year,  when 
i  played  the  chief  parts  in  the  Latin  tragedies  of 
Buchanan,  Querent,  and  Muretus,  which  are  acted 
with  great  applause  in  our  college  at  Guienne.  In 
this  ii^idreas  Goveanus,  our  principal,  as  in  alt  other 
branches  of  his  office,  was,  incomparably  the  greatest 
principal  in  France ;  and  I  was  looked  upon  as  9 

*  Virg.  Eel.  yiii.  rer.  39, 


JOa  OF  THE  EDUCATION  OF  CHILDREN. 

masterly  actor.  This  is  an  exercise  which  I  do  no^ 
discommend  in  young  people  of  condition ;  and  I. 
have  seen  some  of  our  princes,  after  the  example  of 
the  ancients,  perform  such  exercises,  in  person,  with 
dignity  and  applause*  It  was  even  allowable  to  per- 
sons of  quality  in  Greece  to  make  a  profession  of  it* 
Aristoni  tragico  actori  rem  ap^ret :  huic  et  genwj  et 
fortuna  henesia  erant :  nee  ars^  quia  nihil  taU  apud 
Gracos  pudori  est  ea  deformabat  ;*  *'  He  discovered 
*^  the  afiair  to  Ariston,  a  young  tragedian,  a  man  of 
**  a  good  family  and  fortune,  neither  of  which  quali^ 
^  ties  were  disgraced  by  his  art,  nothing  of  this  kind 
*'  being  reckoned  a  disparagement  in  Greece/*  For 
I  have  always  taxed  tho^e  with  impertinence  who 
condemn  these  recreations,  and  those  persons  with 
injustice,  who  refuse  to  admit  such  comedians,  as 
wf^re  worthy  of  it,  into  our  capital  towns,,  and  wha 
grudge  the  people  these  public  diversions.  Well  go* 
vem^  corporations  take  car^  to  assemble  the  citi* 
zens,  not  only  for  the  solemn  duties  of  devotion,  but 
also  for  sports  and  pastimes.  Society  and  *  fiiendship 
are  augmented  by  it ;  and,  besides,  they  cannot  pos^ 
sibly  be  allowed  more  regular  diversions  than  what 
^  are  performed  in  th^  presence  of  all  persons,  and  in 

the  sight  of  the  magistrate  himse|f;  For  my  part 
too,  I  should  think  it  but  right,  that  the  prmce 
should  sometimes,  at  his  own  expense,  gratify  the 
common  people,  in  token  of  his  paternal  affection 
and  goodness ;  and  that,  in  populous  towns,  there 
should  be  theatres  erected  and  set  apart  ^r  such  en« 
tQrtainments,  were  it  only  to  divert  them  from 
worse  and  more  secret  actions.  But,  to  return  to 
my  subject,  there  is  nothing  like  alluring  the  appe- 
tite and  afl^ction  of  the  young  learners,  otherwise 
they  turn  out  only  as  so  many  asses  laden  with 
books,  and  have  their  pockets  crammed  with  leam** 
ing  to  keep  by  virtue  of  the  lash ;  whereas,  to  act 
rightly,  would  be  not  only  to  lodge  it  with  them? 
but  to  make  them  espouse  it. 

♦  TiU  Liv,  lib.  xxiv.  cjip.24* 


OF  >l£ASURINO  TRUTH  AJSP  ERBOIU  S09 


CHAPTEji  XXVii 

Tke  FoUif  of  makmg  our  Capacity  4  Standard  for 
the  Measure  of  Truth  and  Erron 

±t  \%  lioiy  perhaps,  without  reiEMon,  that  we  as- 
cribe facility  of  belief,  and  easiness  of  persuasion, 
to  simplicity  and  igndrance;  for,  I  think,  I  haVd 
heretofore  heard  belief  compared  td  an  intpression 
stamped  upon  our  mind,  which,  bV  hoW  itiuch  the 
softer  and  the  more  flexible  it  is,  tne  more  easily  it 
receives  any  impression.     Ut  necd^se  est  lancem  in 
libra  ponderibus  impositisj  de  primis  sic  animum  per^ 
spicuts  cedere :  *   **  As  one  of  the  scales  of  a  balance 
"  Bdust  be  depressed  by  putting  weight  into  it,  so 
*^  the  assent  of  the  mind  must  of  necessity  yield  trt 
•*  things  that  are  evident/*    And  the  more  the  mind 
is  free,  and  turns  upon  an  uneven  balance,  the  Easier 
it  is  weighed  down  by  the  first  persuasion.    Thid  ii 
the  reason  why  children,  the  common  people,  wo- 
men, and  sick  folks,  are  most  liable  to  be  led  by  the 
ears.     But  then,  on  the  othei*  hand,  it  is  a  silly  pre- 
sumption to  slight  and  condemn  every  thing  as  false, 
because  it  does  not  seem  to  us  likely  to  be  true, 
which  is  the  common  failing  of  such  as  fancy  them* 
selves  wiser  than  their  neighbours.     I. was  myself 
formerly  of  that  opinion ;  and  if  I  heard  talk  either 
of  spirits  walking,   of  prognostications  of  futurity, 
of  enchantments,  witchcraft,  or  any  other  tale  which 
I  knew  not  what  to  make  of, 

Somnia,  terrotei  magicos^  miracula^  sagas^ 
Noctumos  lemures,  portentaque  Thessala  rides  ff- 

Can  you  in  earnest  laugh  at  all  the  schemes 
Of  magic  terrors,  visionary  dreams, 
Portentous  prodigies^  and  imps  of  hell  j 
The  nightly  goblins,  and  encnanting  spell  ? 

*  Cm^  Acad.  Qusst.  lib.  iv.  (qui  inscribitur  Lucullus)  cap«  12. 
t  Hon  lib«iLEpist.  2,  ven  206,209' 
VOL.  I.  P 


I  pitied  the  poor  people  that  were  imposed  upon  by 
these  fooleries ;  and  now  I  find  that  i  myself  was  to 
be  pitied  as  much  af  least  as  tlieiy.  ^  Not  that  expe- 
rience has  taught  me  any  thing  to  supersede  my  K>r- 
mer  opinions,  though  I  have  not  wanted  euriosily^ 
but  reason  hiis  instructed  me,  tihftt  thus  resolutely  to 
condemn  a  thin^  as  &lse  and  impossible,  is  to  pre- 
sume to.  set  limits  to  God's  will,  and  the  power  of 
pature,  our  common  mother ;  and  that  it  is  the  most 
egregious  folly  in  the  World  to  measure  either  the  one 
pr  the  other  oy  the  standa];d  of  oiu:  shallow  capaci- 
ties. If  we  give  die  epithets  of  monstrous  and  im- 
racukus  to  what  pur  reason  cannot  coitiprehend, 
how  many  things  of  that  nature  are  continually  be- 
fore our  eyes?  Let  us  but  consider  through  what 
douds,  and  how  we  are  led  gfoping,  as  it  were,  in 
the  dark,  to  the  knowledge  of  the  things  we  are 
possessed  of,  and  we  shall  surely  find,  that  it  is  ra- 
ther custom  than  knowledge  that  makes  them  ap* 
pear  not  strange  to  us : 

■Jew  nemofessus  saturusque  videndi^ 
Suspkere  in  casli  dignaiur  lucida  templa.\ 

Already  glutted  with  the  sight,  now  none, 
-  Heav'n's  lucid  temples  deigns  to  look  upon. 

and  that  if  those  things  were  now  presented  us  new 
to  us,  we  should  think  them  equally,  or  more  incre- 
dible than  any  other : 

—Si  nunc  primum  mortalibus  adsint 
"  EximprovisOf  seu  sint  objecla  repent?. 
Nil  magis  his  rebus  poterat  mircuMe  did, 
Autndmis  ante  (jnoaaudereni  fore  credere  gentes.X 

Were  those  things  suddenly,  or  bv  surprise, 
Just  now  objected,  new;  to  knortal  eyes ; 
At  nothing  could  tfiey  be  asfonish'd  more, 
Nor  could  have  form  d  a  thought  of  them  before. 

The  man  who  had  never  seen  a  river  in  his  whole 

^  It  icf  ki  Lucretius,  Jhssus  satiate  videndi^  satiate  bemg  the  ab- 
lative dase  of  the  noun  substaiitive  satias, 
t  Lucret,  Kb.  ii.  ver.  1087, 1096.         J  lb.  ver.  1032  to  1035, 


TRUTH  AND  ERROR.  211 

life,  thought  the  first  he  met  with  to  be  the  ocean  j 
£Uid  the  uiings  which  are  the  greatest  witbiu  our 
knowledge,  we  think  to.be  the  greatest  that  nature 
has  formed  of  the  kind: 

Scilicet  etfltwiusqtd'nonmaximjiSj  ei  est 
Qui  rum  ante  dliquem  majorem  vidk  et  ingemx 
Arbw  komoe/ue  videtur^  et  omnia  de  genere  omnt 
Maxime.  qiue  vidit  qulsque^  tui^c  ingentiajtngil,* 

A  little  river  unto  him  docs  seem, 

That  bigger  never  saw,  a  mighty  stream  ; 

A  tree,  a  man ;  all  things  seem  to  his  view 

O'  th'  kind  the  greatest,  that  ne'er  greater  knew. 

Cansuetudine  oculorunij  assuescunt  animi^  neque  ad» 
mirantur^  nefue  requirunt  rationes  earum  rerum^ 
quas  temper  vident:f  "  Things  grow  familiar  to 
**  men's  minds  by  being  often  seen ;  so  that  they 
^^  neither  admire,  nor  are  inquisitive  into,  the  causes 
**  of  themi"  It  is  the  novelty,  rather  than  the 
grandeur,  of  things,  that  tempts  us  to  inquire  into 
their  causes.  But  we  are  to  judge  with  more  reve- 
rence for  that  infinite  power  of  nature,  and  with  a 
greater  acknowledgment  of  our  own.  ignorance  and 
infirmity.  How  many  unlikely  things  are  there  tes- 
tified by  persons  of  credit,  which,  if  we  cannot  ab- 
solutely believe,  we  ought  at  least  to  live  in  suspense  ? 
For  to  conclude  them  impossible^  is. rashly  pre- 
sumingtp  pretend  to  know  the  utmost  bounds  of 
possibility.  Did  we  rig^htly  understand  the  difference 
between  things^  impossible  and  unusual,  and  what  is 
contrary  to  the  order  and  course  of  nature,  and  con- 
traiT  to  the  common  opinion  of  mankind,,  in  not  be- 
lievm^  rashly,  nor,  on  the  other  hand, .  being  too  in- 
credulous, we  should  observe  the  rule  of  Ne  quid  ni* 
misy  enjoined  by  Chilo.t 

•  *  Lucr;  lib. vi.  ver.  67*  to  677.  t  Gic.  de  Nat.  Deor.  lib.  ti.  ctaf  38. 
^  Mnhf  «vii%  Aristotle  in  his  Rhetoric,  lib.  xL  cap.  12,  and  Fliny 
(Nat.  HkHk  lib.  vii.  cap.  32J  ascribe  this  maxim  to  Chilo,  as  does 
DiOffenes  Laertius  in  the  Life  of  Thales,  lib.  i.  sect.  41,  but  he  aflen- 
wards  ascribes  it  to  Solon,  in  his  Life  of  Solon,  lib.  i.  seou  6S.  It 
has  been  also  attributed  to  others.  See  Menage's  Observa^ons  on 
Diogenes  Laertius  in  the  Life  of  Thates,  Ub.L  siect.  il. 

P2  *  . 


212  Of  MEASURING 

When  we  read,  in  Froissart,*  that  the  count  de  Foiit 
knew,  in  Bearn,  the  defeat  of  king  John,  of  Castile^ 
at  Jubaroth,  in  1385,  the  day  after  it  happened,  and 
the  mean9  J)y  which  he  tells  us  be  came  to  hear  it  so 
toon,  it  is  enough  to  make  one  laugh  >  as  well  as  at 
what  we  are  told  in  our  annals,  that  pope  Honorius, 
on  the  very  day  that  Philip  Augustus  died  at  Mante, 
performed  his  ilineral  obsequies  at  Rome,  and  com* 
manded  the  like  throughout  Italy :  for  the  testimony 
of  ihese  authors  is  not,  perhaps,  considerable  enough 
to  be  relied  on#  But  why  i  if  Flutarcfay  besides  se- 
veral instances  of  the  like  kind  that  he  produces  fit>m 
antiquity,  says,  he  is  assured  by  certain  knowledge 
that,  in  the  time  of  Domitian,  the  news  of  the  batSe 
lost  by  Antonius,  many  days  journey  from  thence,t 
wafi^  published  at  Rome,4:  and  dispersed  throughout 
the  world,  on  the  same  day  it  was  fought ;  and  if 
Caesar  was  of  opinion,  that  it  has  often  happened  that 
the  rumour  has  been  antecedent  to  the  event ;  shall 
we  not  say,  that  those  simple  men  suffered  themselves 
to  be  deceived  with  the  vulgar,  for  not  being  so  clear- 
sighted as  we  i  Is  there  any  thing  more  delicate^ 
more  exacts  and  more  sprightl3r  than  Pliny's  judg- 
ment, when  he  i»  pleased  to  g^ve  it  exercise?  Is 
there  any  thing  more  exempt  from  vanity  ?  Setting 
aside  his  exceUent  learnings  of  which  l  mdke  the 
least  account,  in  which  of  these  two  do  we  surpass 
him  i  And  yet  there  is  scarce  a  pretender  to  leam^ 
ing  but  will  pronounce  him  a  liar,  and  pretend  to 
instruct  him  in  the  progress  of  the  works  of  nature^ 

When  we  read,  in  Bouchet,  the  miracles  performed 
by  St  Hilary's  relics,  away  with  such  stufi'l  his  au- 
thority is  not  sufficient  to  restrain  us  from  the  liberty 
of  contradicting  him ;  but  to  condemn  all  such  stories 
in  the  lump  is^  I  think,  a  singular  piece  of  impu* 

♦  frpissfllrty  vol.  iii.  cap*  17,  p.  63,  &c.  The  story  is  very  tedious, 
and  perfectly  ridiculous*  • 

f  Above  840  leagues,  says  Plutarch,r  in  the  Life  of  Pauluff 
iEmilius# 

%  There  is  no  body  in  my  tune,  adds  Plutarch,  but  knows  this* 


TRUTH  A2m  ERROR.  SJS 

4&ence.  The  great  St  Austin  sa^,  he  saw  a  blind 
child  recover  its  sight  by  the  rehcs  of  St  Gervase, 
and  St  Protasius  at  Milan  ;*  and  a  woman  at  Car* 
thage  cured  of  a  cancer,  by  the  sign  of  the  cross 
made  upon  her  bj  a  woman  newly  baptised ;  that 
Hesperius,t  a  famuiar  friend  of  his,  drove  away  spi* 
rits,  that  haunted  his  house,  with  a  little  of  the  earth 
of  our  Lord's  sepulchre  ;  and  that  the  same  earth, 
being  afterwards  carried  to  the  church,  a  man  af- 
flicted with  die  palsj  was  there  suddenly  cured  by 
it ;  that  a  woman,  m  a  procession,  having  touched 
the  shrine  of  St  Stephen  with  a  nosegay,  and  there- 
with rubbed  her  eyes,  recovered  her  sight,  which 
she  had  been  a  long  tame  deprived  of;  not  to  men- 
tion several  other,  miracles,  at  which,  he  says,  he 
w<^  himself  present  Of  what  shall  we  accuse  him 
and  the  two  holy  bishops,  Aurelius  and  Maximin, 
whom  he  appeals  to  for  his  vouchers  ?  Shall  it  be  of 
jgnor^npjs^  simplicity, .  credulity',  or  of  knavenr  and 
.in)po«tm^  ?  Is  there  a  man  in  tnis  age  so  impudent  as 
to  think  himsdf  (comparable  to  them  either  in  virtue 
And  piety,  or  in  l^nowledge,  judgment,  and  capa- 
city ?  Qui  ut  rationem  nuUam  afferent^  ipsa  authori- 
fate  me  frangerctit  ;\  ^*  Who,  though  they  should 
^  offer  m^  no  r^asoo^  would  convince  me  bv  their 
^  sin^e  liuthprity/^  It  is  a  pr^umption  of^  great 
danger  and  conseauence,  besioes  the  absurd  temerity 
it  is  attended  wi^i,  of  contemning  idiat  we  do  not 

*  Auguseia.  de  Civitate  Dei^  1^^  9vu*  <»iv  & 

t  Montaigne  Is  guUiy  here  of  a  snu^}  mistake.  St  Austin  does 
not  ascribe  this  expmsion  of  the  evil  spirits  to  tWffosU  Quantity  of 
the  earth  of  our  Lord's  sepulchre  whicn  Hesperius  had  in  nis  house ; 
for,  ac^ordii^to  SjU  Austjp»  one  of  his  priests,  Kaviiig,  at  the.  en- 
treaty of  llmejriu^  ^repaj^  to  his  house,  and  offered  the  sacrifice 
of  the  l^pdy  of  Christ,  and  baying  prayed  earnestly  to  God  to  put  a 
stop  to  tiiis  distuHNmce,  God  did  so  that  very  instant.  As  to  the 
eardi  taken  firom  Ihe  sepmlchre  of  Jesus  Christ,  Hesperius  kept  it 
suspended  in  h«|  OFur  b^dcha^nber,  to  seeure  him  firom  the  insults  of 
ehe  devils,  who  had  been  very  mischievous  to  his  slaves  and  cattle ; 
for  thqugh  he  was  pro^cted  against  ihe  evil  spirito  by  this  earthy  y^ 
its  ipfiiepce  did  po^  extend  to  the  rest  of  his^fimiily. 

\  Cic  Tqsc^  Qus^t  lib.  L  ciy»  filf 


214  OF  MEASURTKO  TRUTS  AKD  ERBOR. 

djttiprehend ;  for  after  that,  according  to  your  fine 
understanding,  you  have  settled  the  limits  of  truth 
and  falsehood,  and  it  should  happen  that  you  are  un- 
der a  necessity  of  believing  stranger  things  than  those 
you  deny,  you  are  actually  obliged  to  recede  from 
the  limits  you  have  established.  Now  what  I  think 
so  much  disquiets  our  consciences  in  our  commotions 
on  the  score  of  religion,  is  the  catholics'  dispensation 
of  their  creed :  they  fancy  they  act  with  moderation 
and  understanding,  when  they  give  up  to  their  ad* 
versaries  any  of  me  articles  that  are  controverted ; 
but,  besides  that  they  do  not  discern  of  what  advan* 
tagc  it  is  to  their  adversaries  to  begin  to  yield  to 
them,  ^nd  to  retire,  and  how  much  this  animates  the 
adversaries  to  follow  the  blow ;  those  articles  which 
they  chose  as  the  most  indifferent,  are  sometimes 
very  important.  We  are  either  totally  to  submit  to 
the  authority  of  our  ecclesiastical  polity,  or  be  en- 
tirely exempted  firom  it.  It  is  not  for  us  to  deter* 
mine  what  share  of  obedience  we  are  to  pay  to  it ; 
and,  moreover,  this  I  can  say,  as  having  myself  for- 
merly made  trirf  of  it,  that,  having  used  the^liberty 
of  choosing  particularly  for  myself,  being  indifferent 
,  as  to  certain  points  of  .the  discipline  erf  our  church, 
which  to  me  seemed  to  have  an  aspect  more  vain,  or 
more  strange,  coming  after  to  discourse  the  matter 
with  some  men  of  learning,  I  found  that  those  very 
things  had  a  substantial  and  very  solid  bads ;  and 
that  it  is  nothing  but  brutality  and  ignorance  which 
makes  us  receive  them  with  less  reverence  than  the 
fest.  Why  do  not  we  recollect  what  contradiction 
we  find  in  our  own  opinions  ?  How  many  things  were 
articles  of  fjiith  yesterday,  which  to-day  we  treat  as 
no  other  than  fables  ?  Vain-glory  and  curiosity  are 
the  torments  of  our  mind.  This  last  prompts  us  to 
dive  into  afiairs  with  which  we  have  no  concern, 
while  the  former  forbids  us  to  leave  any  thing  unde- 
teripined  an^  uqdecided^ 


.^I^JiBptOMPtP;.  tlS 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


H. 


Of  Friendship. 

i  AVING  observed  in  what  maimer  a  painter,  who 
serves  me,  disposed  of  his  workmandiip,  1  had  a  fancy 
to  imitate  him.  He  chooses  the  fitirest  part  and  tte 
middle  of  a  wall  or  partition,  wherein  he  places  a 
picture,  which  he  has  finished,  with  the  utmost  care 
and  art$  and  he  fills  up  the  void  spaces  that  are  about 
it,  with  grotesque  figures,  which  are  fimdiid  strokes  of 
the  pencil,  wiuiout  any  beauty  but  what  they  derive 
from  their  variety  imd  oddness.  And  in  truth,  what 
are  these  essays  of  mine  but  grotesques,  and  mofi^ 
strous  pieces  of  patch-work  put  together  without 
any  certain  figure,  or  any  order,  connection,  or  ptfh 
portion,  but  what  is  accidental  i  As  the  mermaid, 

Desinai  in  piscem  muGerformosa  supeme.*^       ^ 

Which  a  fair  woman's  face  above  doth  show, 
But  in  a  fijih's  tail  doth  end  below. 

In  the  latter  part  I  go,  hand  in  hand  with  my  pain- 
ter, but  fall  very  short  of  him  in  the  former  and  the 
better  part,  for  I  have  n€»t  so  mudb  skill  aa  to  pretood 
to  give  a  fine  picture  executed  accordmg  to  art. 
I  have,  therefore,  thought  fit  to  borrow  one  from 
Stephen  de  Boetius,t  wMch  will  be  an  honour  to  all 
the  reat  of  this  work.  It  is  a  discourse,  which  he 
has  entitled  La  Servitude  Yolontaire,  ^*  Voluntary 
^  Slaverv  \'*  but  some,  who  did  not  know  what  ;he 
intended  by  that  title,  have  since .  vei^  properly 
given  it  another,  viz«  Centre  un^V  .It  is  a  piece, 

.  *  Hon  de  Arte  Poetioa,  ver,  4. 

j*  Yet  it  is  not  here,  and  why  Montaigne  has  not  inserted  it,  he 
teUi  us  at  the  end  of  this  chapter.     * 

X  This,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  means  a  discourse  against  mo« 
narchy  or  government  by  one  j^rson  alone,  agreeabfy  to  what 
l^ontaigne  s^ys,  at  the  end  of  this  chi4)ter,  That  if  Boetius  could 
Iwve  made  his  option,  he  would  rather  have  been  bom  at  Venice, 
than  at  Sadat* 


216  OF  fribndshup. 

vhicn  he  wrote  in  his  younger  years,  by  way  of 
essay,  for  the  honour  of  liberty  against  tyrants*  It 
has  passed  through  the  hap^  of  ;nen  of  the  best  un« 
derstanding,  with  very  ^eat  recommendittions,  as  it 
highly  deserved,  for  it  is  elegantly  written,  and  as 
fiiB  as  any  thing  can  be  on  the  subject.  Yet  it  may 
truly  be  said,  that  he  was  capable  of  a  better  per* 
formance ;  and  if  in  that  riper  age,  wherein  I  had  the 
happiness  to  be  acquainted  with  him,  he  had  entered 
upon  an  undertaking  like  this  of  mine,  to  commit 
his  fancies  to  writing,  we  should  have  seen  many  un- 
common things,  and  such  as  wpuld  have  gone  very 
near  to  have  rivalled  the  best  writings  of  the  an- 
cients: for  in  this  branch  of  natural  endowments 
specially,  I  know  no  man  comparable  to  him,  B.ut 
we  have  nothing  of  his  left,  save  only  this  tract  (and 
that  even  by  chance,  for  I  believe  he  never  saw  it 
after  he  let  it  go  out  of  his  hands) ;  and  some  me- 
moirs concerning  that  edict  of  January,*  made 
&mous  by  our  qvil  wars,  which  perhaps  triay  find  a 
place  els^wherei  This  is  all  that  I  have  been  able  to. 
recover  of  what  he  has  left  behind  him  (though  with 
such  an  afiectionate  remembrance  on  his  death  bed,t 
he  did,  by  his  will,  bequeath  his  library  and  psmers 
to  me),  except  the  little  volume  of  his  works,  wnicH 
I  committed  to  the  press ;  t  and  to  which  1  am  par- 
ticularly obliged,  because  it  was  the  introduction  of 
our  first  acquaintance ;  for  it  had  been  shown  to  me, 
long  before  I  knew  his  person,  and  as  it  gave  mt  the 
first  knowledge  of  his  name,  it  consequently  laid  the 
foundation  ofthat  friendship,  which  we  mutu^y  cul- 
tivated so  long  as  it  pleased  Ood  to  spare  his  life  y 
a  friendship  so  entire,  and  so  perfect,  that  certainly 
the  like  is  nardly  to  be  found  in  story,  nor  is  there 
the  least  trace  of  it  to  be  seen  in  the  practice  of  the 

*  It  was  iBfued  in  1562,  in  the  reign  of  Charley  IX.  yet  a  acinar. 

^  See  the  diacoune  upon  the  oeath  pf  Stephen  ae  la  Boettos^ 
comj^ted  by  Montaigne,  and  published  at  the  end  of  this  edition. 

t  Printed  at  Paris  by  Frederick  Morel  in  1571.  I  shall  speak  of 
it  mott  particularly  in  another  plape. 


moderns.  Indeed  there  must  be  sudi  a  crnicurrenc^ 
of  circttmstances  to  the  perfecting  of  9tich  a  friends 
ship,  tliat  it  is  very  much^if  fortune  brings  it  to  pass 
once  in  three  years. 

>  iThere  is  nothing  to  which  nature  seems  to  have  Friemi* 
ikiore  ittclined  us  than  society;  and  Aristotle  says,^^||||[^py 
that  the  good  leg^ators  were  more  tender  of  fiiend-c©"**^ 
jship  than  of  justice.    Now  this  is  the  utmost  point  ^^ill^.. 
df  the  perfection  of  society :  for  generally  all  those 
fiiendships  that  are  created  and  cultivated  by  plea- 
sure^  profit,   public    or   private  necessity,   are  so 
much  the  less  amiable  and  generous,  and  so  much 
the  less  friendships,  as  they  have  another  motive  and 
design,  and  consequence,  than  pure  friendship  itself. 

Neitlfer  are  those  four  ancient  kinds,  viz.  natural,  Fneod- 
social,  hospitable,  and  venerean,   either  separately  J^J^ 
or  jointly  correspondent  with,  or  do  they  constitute  P'operiy 
true  firiendship*    That  of  children  to  parents  is  tb^Yout^tu 
ther  respect  j  friendship  beiqg  nourished  by  a  com- »/  ^^i^ 
munication  which  cannot  b^  ibrm^d  between  them,tioguitbed 
by  reason  of  the  too  great  disparity  pf  »ge,  and^3^*Jj^*»- 
would  perhaps  violate  the  obligations  pf  nature ;  for^  ^ 
neither  are  all  the  secret  tboqghts  pf  the  parents 
communicable  to  tlieir  children,  for  fear  of  creating 
an  unsuitable  &miliarity  between  them ;  por  could 
admonitions  |md  corrections,  one  of  the  principal 
pffices  of  fnen4ship,  be  exercised  by  children  to  their 
^parents.    There  are  some  countries,  where  it  is  the 
pustom  for  children  to  kill  their  fathers ;  and  others, 
where  the  fathers  kill  their  children,  to  avoid  their 
^eing  an  impediment  to  their  desi^s ;  and  naturally 
the  hopes  or  th^  one  are  foun4ed  in  the  destruction 
of  the  other.    There  have  been  philosophers  who 
have  despised  this  tie  of  nature  ;*  witness  Aristippus, 
who,  when  he  was  seriously  told  of  the  affection  he 
owed  to  his  children,  as  they  were  descended  from 
his  loins,  fell  a-spitting,  and  said*  that  also  came 
from  him,  and  that  we  likewise  iM'ed  lice  and  worms: 

*  piog.  \aen,  in  the  Life  of  Ari0tippu3»  lib.  ii«  sieclk  SI. 


318  Of  m»Kl>8liIIS 

iKTitness  another,  whom  Plutarch  'endeavotired  to 
reconcile  with  his  brother ;  I  make  never  the  more 
account  of  him,  said  he,  for  coming  out  of  the  same 
hole.*     This  word  Brother,  is  ind€>ed  a  fine  sound- 
ing, and  a  most  affectionate  name ;  and  for  this  rea- 
son, Boetius  and  I  styled  ourselves  brothers  :t  but 
the  jumble  of  interest,  the  division  of  estates,  and 
the  necessity  that  the  wealth  of  the  one  must  be  the 
impoverishment  of  the  other,  wonderfully  dissolve 
and  relax  this  fraternal  cement.     When  brothers 
seek  their  way  to  preferment  by  the  same  path  or 
channel,  it  is  hardly  possible  mit  they  must  oftea 
jostle  and  hinder  one  another.     Moreover,  why  is  it 
necessary  that  the    correspondence   and  relation, 
which  creates  such  true  and  perfect  friendship,  should 
be  found  in  kindred  ?    The  father  and  the  son  may 
happen  to  be  of  a  quite  contrary  disposition,  and  so 
may  brothers.     This  is  my  son :   this  is  my  father, 
but  he  is  passionate,  a  knave;  or  a  fool.    And  th«i, 
the  more  those  friendships  are  required  of  us  by  law 
and  the  obligations  of  nature,  so  much  the  less  is 
there  in  them  of  our  own  choice  and  voluntary  free- 
dom ;  and,  indeed,  our  free  will  has  no  production 
more  properly  its  own,  than  that  of  i^Section  and 
friendship.    Not  that  I  have  not  myself  experienced 
all  that  is  possible  in  this  respect,  having  had  the  best 
of  fathers,  who  was  also  the  most  indulgent  even  to 
extreme  old  age,   and  descended  of  a  &mily,  for 
many  generations  famous  and  exemplary  for  this  bro« 
therly  concord : 


Ei  ip^e 


Notus  infratres  animi  patemLX 

*  In  Plutarch's  Treatise  of  Brotherly  Love,  ch.  4, 
f  That  is  to  say,  that  accoi-dine  to  the  usage  established  in  Mon-^ 
talgne's  time,  they  gave  one  anotner  the  style  of  brothers,  as  it  was 
to  be  the  token  and  pledge  of  tiie  friendship  which  they  had  con^ 
tiacted.  And  upon  the  same  principles,  Mademoiselle  de  Gourvay» 
styled  herself  IVlontaigne's  daughter,  and  not  because  Montaigne 
married  her  motlier,  as  I  have  heard  it  afiirmed  in  eood  company* 
t  Hor.lib.ii-Ode2. 


OF  FRIENDSHIP.  ^W 

'And  I  myself  was  known  to  proTe 
A  lather  in  fraternal  love. 

•As  for  the  love  we  bear  to  women,  though  it  arises 
from  our  own  choice,  we  are  not  to  bring  it  into 
comparison,  or  rank  it  with  the  others.  Its  fire,  I 
cohiess,     . 

(Neque  enim  est  Dea  nescia  nostri 
QiuB  dalcem  cur  is  miscet  amaritiem.* 

Nor  is  my  goddess  ign'rant  what  I  am^ 
Who  pleasing  anguish  mixes  with  my  flame.) 

is  more  active,  more  eager  and  sharper ;  but  withal 
it  is  liQore  precipitant  and  fickle,  wavering  and  vari- 
able ;  a  fever  suDJect  to  paroxysms  and  intermission, 
that  is  confin^  to  only  one  comer  of  our  fabric ; 
whereas  in  fiiendship  it  is  one  general  and  universal 
heat,  but  temperate  and  equal ;  a  heat  that  is  con- 
stant and  settled,  all  easy  and  smooth,  without  any 
particle  that  is  rough  and  poignant  Moreover,  in 
love  there  is  nothing  more  than  a  frantic  desire  of 
what  flies  from  us : 

Com  sesue  la  lepre  U  cacciaiore 

Aljrmdoj  al  caldo,.  alia  numtagnat  altiiio: 

Ne  piu  Festkna  fwi,  chepresawdet 

El  sol  dietro  i  chi  Jngge  qffretta  il  piede.\ 

Like  hunten  that  die  flyii)ghtfe  pursue 
O'er  hilb  and  dale,  through  beat  and  morning  dew ; 
Which  being  caught,  the  quarry  they  despise, 
Being  only  pleas'd  in  following  that  which  flies. 

As  soon  as  ever  love  has  contracted  articles  of 
umity,  that  is  to  say,  as  soon  as  there  is  a  concur- 
rence of  desires,  it  languishes  and  vanishes,  for  frui- 
tion destroys  it,  as  having  only  a  carnal  appetite ^  and 
such  a  one  as  is  subject  to  satiety.  ]f rijsndship,  on 
the  contrary,  is  enjoyed  in  prgportion  as  it  is  desired, 
and  it  «ily  grows  up,  thrives  and  increases  by  enjoy- 
ment, as  being  of  itself  spiritual,  and  the  soul  is  re- 
fined by  the  very  practice  of  it    With  this  perfect 

*  Catullus,  Ep.  66.  t  Ariosto,  cant  z.  stanz.  7. 


22©  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

friendsliip,  I  cannot  derty  but  those  wavering  affec 
tions  haye  formerly  found  some  place  in  my  breast^ 
not  to  say  a  word  of  my  friend  Boetius^  who  con- 
fesses but  too  much  of  it  in  his  verses.    Consequently 
both  thes^  passions  have  taken  possession  of  me»  but 
so  that  I  knew  the  one  from  the  other,  and  never  set 
them  on  a  par,  the  first  soaring  aloft  with  majesty, 
and  looking  down  with  disdain  qn  the  latter^  stretch- 
ing its  pinions  fyx  below  it 
ull^of'ihc     ^^  *^  marriage,  besides  its  bein^  a  covenant,  the 
r"arirag#!|°  entrance  into  which  is  altogether  tree,  but  the  con- 
coocraci.   tinuaucc  in  it  forced  and  compulsory,  and  ha^g 
another  dependence  than  on  that  of  our  own  free 
will,  and  it  being  also  a  contract  commonly  made 
for  other  ends;  there  are  a  thousand  intricacies  in  it 
to  unravel,  enough  to  break  the  thread,  and  inter- 
nipt  the  current  of  a  lively  afibction ;  whereas  in 
friendship  there  is  no  ^on^merce  or  transaction^  but 
within  itself. 
^**"*^       Moreover,  to  say  the  truth,  the  ordinary  talent  of 
to^bTiDc^.  women  is  not  such  as  is  sufficient  to  keep  up  that  eor- 
P*J^^^^  i  despondence  and  communication,  whi^h  are  neces* 
Fr!L'ii8btp|  sary  for  cultivating  this  sacred  tie ;  nor  dp  they  seem 
I  to  DC  endued  with  that  constancy  of  min<i,  to  bear 
^   the  constraint  of  so  hard  and  durable  a  knot    Could 
there  really  be  such  ^K'ifree  and  voluntary  familiarity 
contracted,  where  not  onl^  the  soul  might  have  thw 
1     entire  fruition,  but  the  body  also  share  in  the  aniance^ 
?     and  the  whole  man  be  engaged  in  it,  it  is  certsun  that 
the  friendship  would  be  more  entire  and  coinplete ; 
but  there  is  no  instance  that  this  sex  ever  yet  attained 
\    to  such  perfection,  and  by  the  ancient  schools  it  is 
\  denied  it  ever  can. 
Friendship     The  Other  Grecian  licence  is  justly  abhorred  by 
tJi*e"*UTy  our  moralists,  which,  however,  for  having  according 
muchinu.eto  their  practice  so  necessary  a  disparity  of  age,  and 


Grceku  difference  of  offices  between  the  lovers,  bears  no 
J^J*"- ,  more  proportion  than  the  other  to  the  perfect  union 
J^pfniow  of  and  harmony  that  is  here  required.  Quis  est  etiim 
^^     '      isle  nmor  amicitice?    Cur  vcqvc  deformem  adoUs- 


OF  FRISXBSHIFi  221 

cent  em  quisquam  Umai^  neque  formdsunt  seftemf^ 
••  For  what  m^ans  this  love  of  friendship  ?  How 
•*  comes  it  to  pass  that  nobody  loves  a  deformed 
••youth,  nor  a  handsome  old  man?"  Neither  do  I 
conceive  that  the  picture  which  the  academy  give^ 
of  it,  will  be  a  contradiction  to  my  assertion,  that 
the  first  fury  inspired  by  the  son  of  Venus  into  the 
heart  of  the  lover,  upon  the  sight  of  blooming  youth; 
to  which  they  allow  all  the  insolent  and  passionate 
eiR>rts  that  an  immoderate  ardour  can  produce,  was 
singly  founded  on  external  beauty,  the  false  image 
of  corporeal  generation ;  for  it  could  not  be'  found 
on  the  mind  which  was  yet  undiscoverable,  being  but 
now  springing  forth,  and  not  of  maturitjr  to  blossom : 
which  fury,  it  it  seized  upon  a  mean  spirit,  the  object 
of  its  pursuit  were  riches,  presents,  p-eferments,  and 
such  sorry  goods,  as  they  by  no  means  approve ;  but 
if  this  fury  fell  upon  a  more  generous  soul,  the  means 
used  were  also  generous,  such  as  philosophical  in- 
structions, precepts  to  revere  religion,  to  obey  the 
laws,  to  die. for  the  good  of  one's  country,  to  give 
instances  of  valour,  prudence,  and  justice  ;  the  lover 
studying  to  render  himself  agreeable  by  the  grace 
and  oeauty  of  his  mind,  that  of  his  body  being  long 
ago  decayed,  and  hoping  by  this  mental-  society  to 
establish  a  more  firm  and  lasting  contract.  When 
this  courtship  had  its  eiiect  in  its  due  season  (for 
what  they  do  not  require  in  the  lover,  namely,  uiat 
he  should  take  time  and  use  discretion  in  his  court- 
ship, they  strictly  require  in  the  person  loved ;  for- 
asmuch as  he  is  under  a  necessity  to  judge  of  internal 
beauty,  difficult  to  know  and  discover),  then  there 
sprung  up  in  the  person  beloved  a  desire  of  spiritual 
conception,  by  the  intervention  of  a  spiritual  beauty. 
This  was  the  principal:  the  corporeal,  accidental, 
and  second  causes,  are  all  the  reverse  or  wrong  side 
of  the  lover.  For  this  reason  they  prefer  the  oerson 
loved,  prove  that  tiie  gods  do  the  same,  and  highly 

*  Cic  Tusc.  Qu»8t.  lib.  iv.  cap.  33, 


823  OF  FBIfiNDSGrir* 

blame  the  poet  iEschylus,  for  havi^5  in  the  amoim 
of  Achilles  and  Patroclus,  given  the  lover's  part  to 
Achilles,  who  was  in  the  first  iBower  and  pubescency 
o^  ^outh,  and  the  handsomest  of  all  the  Greeksi 
This  general  familiarity  being  once  settled,  supposing 
its  most  worthy  proof  to  be  predominant  and  to  per- 
form  its  proper  offices,  they  sa^,  that  frcmi  thence 
great  benefit  accrued,  both  to  pnvate  persons  and  thQ 
public ;  that  it  was  the  strength  of  tnose  countries^ 
which  admitted  the  practice  of  it  j  and  the  chief  dc:^ 
fence  of  justice  and  liberty.  Witness  the  salutiferous 
amours  of  Harmodius  and  Aristogiton.  They  there^ 
jfore  call  it  sacred  and  divine,  and  think  that  it  has 
no  enemy  but  the  violence  of  tyrants,  and  the 
cowardice  of  the  common  people.  In  short,  all  that 
can  be  allowed  in  favour  of  the  academy,  is  to  say, 
that  it  was  an  amour  which  terminated  in  friendship; 
and  this  also  agrees  well  enough  with  the  stoical  de* 
fmition  of  love.  Amorem  conatum  esse  amicitite^faci- 
enda  ex  pulchritudinis  specie  ;•  **  That  love  is  an 
*^  endeavour  of  contracting  friendship  by  the  sj^en* 
"  dour  of  beauty." 
The  eon.  I  rctum  to  my  definition  of  a  species  of  friendship 
jdr^^lbip  that  is  juster  and  more  uniform  tiian  what  has  been 
character,  mentioned.  Omnino  amicitiaj  corroboratisjam  can*. 
'****•  jii^matis  ingeniisy  et  (ttattbus^  jtidicanda  sunt:i 
^^  There  is  no  judging  of  friendship  till  the  persons 
*^  are  arrived  to  the  maturity  of  years  and  under* 
**  standing/'  As  for  the  rest,  what  we  commcHily 
call  friends  and  friendship  are  but  acquaintances  con- 
tracted, either  occasionally  or  for  some  advantage, 
by  means  of  which  there  happens  an  a^reementof 
our  minds :  but  in  the  friendsnip  I  am  treating  of, 
our  souls  mingle  and  interweave  themselves  one  with 
another  so  universally,  that  there  is  no  more  sigii  of 
the  cement,  by  which  they  were  first  joined  together* 
If  I  am  pressed  to  give  a  reason  why  I  loved  him,  I 
find  it  cannot  be  expressed  otherwise  than  by  saying^ 

*  Cic.  Tusc.  Qiuesu  lilk  ir/cap.  S4.       f  Cic.  de  Asucitia,  cap.  20* 


OP  FBIENB^Hlfk  223 

**  Because  it  was  he :  became  it  wis  I."  There  waft 
I  know  not  what  unaccountable  power  of  destiny 
that  brought  about  this  union,  beyond  all  that  I  can 
say  in  general  or  particular.  We  sought  for,  before 
we  saw,  each  other  by  the  cbamcters  we  heard  one 
of  another,  whidi  wrought  more  upon  our  affections 
than,  in  reason,  mere  reports  ^onld  do.  I  thinks 
by  some  secret  appointnient  of  heaven,  we  loved  to 
hear  each  other  named.  At  our  first  meeting,  which 
was  accidental  at  a  city  feast,  we  were  all  at  once  so 
taken  with  each  other,  so  well  acquainted,  and  so 
mutually  obliging,  that  from  thence-forward  nothing 
was  so  dear  to  us  as  the  one  to  the  other.  Ij[e  wrote 
an  excellent  Latin  satire,  v^hich  is  published,  where- 
in he  excuses  and  accounts  for  the  suddenness  of  our 
ac<][uamtance,  and  its  being  so  soon  brought  to  ma* 
tunty.^  He  said,  that  it  being  like  to  have  so  short 
a  continuance,  as  it  was  contracted  so  late  in  life 
(for  we  were  both  full  grown  men,  and  he  the  oldest 
by  a  year  or  two),  there  was  no  time  to  lose ;  nor  was 
it  to  be  regulated  by  the  pattern  of  those  effeminate 
and  formal  friendships,  that  require  so  many  precau- 
tions of  a  long  preliminary  conversation. 

This  is  no  otner  idea  than  that  of  itself,  and  can  The  qain. 
have  no  relation  but  to  itself.     It  is  not  one  psirtiVJJJ^IJ**^ 
cular  consideration,  nor  two^  nor  three,  nor  four,thip. 
nor  a  thousand.     It  is  I  know  not  what  quintessence 
of  aU  this  mixture,    which,   having  engrossed  my 
whole  will,  carried  it  to  be  plunged  and  absorbed  in 
his ;  and  which,  having  engrossed  all  his  will,  brought 
it  back  with  the  like  appetite  and  concurrence,  to 
be  plunged  and  absorbed  in  mine.     I  may  truly  say 
absorbed,  having  reserved  nothing  to  ourselves  that 
was  our  own,  or  that  was  either  his  or  mine.     When 
LseUus,  in  presence  of  the  Roman  consuls  (who, 
after  they  had  condemned  Tiberius  Gracchus,  prose- 
cuted all  ti^ose  who  had  held  a  correspondence  with 

'  '  *^* '  See  Flutardi  in  the  life  of  Tiberius  and  Caius  Gracchus,  chap. 
B,  Vder.  Max.  lib.  i?;  cap.  7»  in  Exemplis  Romania^  sect.  1. 


S24  OF  PRIEKDSHIFl 

him)r  came  to  ask  Caiusi  Blosius,  who  was  his  chief' 
friend,  **  What  he  would  have  doiie  for  himi  ?"   And 
that  he  made  answer,   **  Every  thing.'^     **  How! 
*^  every  thing  !'*   continued  he  s   ^^  And  what  i£  he 
^<  had  commanded  thee  to  set  fire  to  our  "temples?" 
^*  He  would  never  have  laid  that  command  on  me," 
replied  Blosius :  ^  But  what  if  he  had  i"  said  Lsdius^ 
"  Why,  if  he  had,"  said  the  other,  *♦  I  would  have 
^^  obeyed  him."    If  he  was  ao  perfect  a  iriend  to 
Graqchus  as  history  reports  him  to  have  been,  he 
was  under  no  necessity  of  offending  the  consuls  by 
such  a  bold  confession  as  the  last,  and  might  still  have 
retained  the  assurance  he  had  of  Gracchus's  good 
will.    Nevertheless  they  who  accuse  this  as  a  sedi-» 
tious  answer,  do  not  well  understand  this  mystery, 
nor  suppose  what  is  a  fiict ;  that  he  was  now  master 
of  Gracchus's  will,  both  by  the  power  of  a  fiiend^ 
and  the  knowledge  he  had  of  the  man«    They  were 
more  friends  than  citizens,  and  more  friends  to  one 
another  than  either  friends  or  enemies  to  their  coun* 
try,  or  than  friends  to  sunbition  and  disturbance* 
Having  absolutely  resigned  themselves  to  one  another, 
each  perfectly  held  the  reins  of  the  other's  incUna^ 
tion,  which  aJso  they  governed  by  virtue,  and  guided 
by  reason  (without  wnich  it  wer6  altogether  impose 
sible  to  draw  in  the  harness).    Blosius's  answer  was 
such  as  it  ought  to  have  been.    If  either  acted  hand 
over  head,  they  were  not  friends  according  to  my 
notion,  either  one  to  the  other,  or  to  their  own  dear 
selves.    As  for  the  rest,  tliis  answer  carries  no  worse 
sound  than  mine  would  do,  if  any  one  should  ask  me, 
if  my  will  commanded  me  to  kill  my  daughter,  would 
I  kill  her  ?  and  I  should  make  answer  that  I  would  i 
for  this  carries  no  evidence  of  consent  to  do  it 
Because  I  do  not  in  the  least  suspect  my  own  will, 
and  as  little  that  of  such  a  friend*    It  is  not  in  the 
power  of  all  the  arguments  in  the  world  to  dispossess 
me  of  the  certainty  I  have  of  the  intentions  and  opi* 
nions  of  my  friends  ^  nay,  no  one  action  of  his,  witat 
face  soever  it  might  bear,  could  be  represented  to 


jbe,  of  winch  I  could  not  immediately  discover  the 
ttiotiye.  Our  souls  have  kept  so  even  a  pace  toge- 
ther, aiid  we  have  with  such  a  fervent  affection  laid 
open  the  very  bottom  of  our  hearts  to  one  another's 
View,  that  I  not  only  know  his  as  well  as  I  do  my 
own,  but  should  certainly  much  rather  trust  my  in* 
terest  with  him  than  with  myself. 

Let  no  one  therefore  rank  other  common  friend- me  idn  of 
idiips  with  such  a  one  as  this.    Of  those  I  have  had^^j^j^^, 
as  much  e^erience  as  any  one,  and  of  the  most  per-  "^^    '* 
feet  too  of  their  kind :  but  I  am  not  for  confounding 
the  rules  of  the  one  with  the  other,  which  whoever 
were  guilty  of^  Would  find  himself  deceived.    In 
those  other  ordinary  friendships,  a  man  must  act^ 
with  great  prudence,  precaution,  and  circumspee- 
tiod,  we  knot  of  such  mendships  being  not  so  strong 
^hat  a  man  can  be  sure  it  will  not  slip :  ^^  Love  him,^ 
said  Chilon,*  "  as  if  you  were  one  day  to  hate  him  j 
**  and  hate  him  as  if  you  were  one  day  to  love  him." 
This  precept,  though  so  abominable  in  the  sovereign 
frietidship  I  am  treating  of,  is  of  service  in  the  prac* 
tice  of  tne  ordinary  common  friendships,  to  which 
may  most  iostly  be  applied  an  exclamation  bfleh  used 
by  Aristotle,t  viz;  *  a  f  »x«;,  HtU  ? *'xoc, "  O  my  friends ! 
"  there  is  no  friend !" 

In  this  sublime  state  of  friendship,  so  hearty  is  the  Amoogyf 
concurrence  of  our  wills,  that  the  oflSces  and  bene-  fjln^  .re 
fits,  which  are  the  support  of  the  inferior  class  ofc 
friendships,  do  not  deserve  so  much  as  to  be  men- 
tioned here ;  for  in  the  veir.  same  manner  as  the 
fiiendship  I  bear  to  myself'^  receives  no  increase, 

^^In  AtiliM  GeUiuSy  lib.  L  cap.  S.  Diogenes  Laertius»  in  the  life  of 
Bias,  attributes  this  styin^  to  tnat  wise  man,  lib.  i.  sect.  7»  as  Aristo- 
tle had  done  before,  in  his  Ilhetoricy  lib.  ii.  cap.  IS,  whm  we  read 
the  second  artide,  tIz.  **  That  a  man  should  be  hated,  as  if  some^ 
^  day  hereafter  he  should  be  loved;''  which  is  not  in  Diogenes  La- 
trtiua.  As  to  the  irst  article.  **  That  a  man  should  only  be  loved 
**  as  if  he  were  some  dscy  to  be  hated."  Cicero  says,  that  he  caa- 
notimaginesaGh  an  expression  came  from  Bias,  one  of  the  s^^ 
wise  men*    D^  Amicitue,  cap.  16. 

t  Diogenerl4Mrli«^in.the  life  of  Ari8toae^Ub.v.  sect 

VOL.  I.  Q 


%99  OF  FRIENDSHIP* 

whatever  I  relieve  myself  withal  in  a  case  of  neces-^ 
stty  (say  the  Stoics  what  they  will),  and  as  I  do  not 
find  myself  obliged  to  myself,  for  the  service  I  do 
to  myself:  so  the  nmon  of  such  fiiends  being  truly 
perfect,  maekes  them  insensible  of  such  obligations, 
and  causes  them  to  loath  and  banish  from  their  c6n« 
versation  the  words  benefit,  obligation^  acknowledg- 
ment, entreaty,  thanks,  and  the  Uke  terms  of.  dis- 
tinction and  mfierence.     Every  thing  being  in  efl^ct 
common  between  them;  as  thoughts,  judgments, 
estates,  wives,  children,  honour,  and  life,  ai^  their 
agreement  being  as  entire  as  if  it  was  but  one  sold  in 
two  bodies,  they  cannot   be  said,    according    to 
Aristotle's  very  proper  definition,*  either  to  lend  or 
give  any  thing  to  one  another.     This  is  the  very 
reason  why  the  legislators,  to  honour  marriage  i^th 
9ome  imaginary  resemblance  of  this  divine  union, 
prohibit  aU  gif^  between  the  husband  and  wife, '  by 
which  they  would  have  it  inferred,  that  all  tk^  b<rtn 
had,  ought  to  be  the  property  of  each ;    anii  that 
they  have  notMng  of  which  to  make  a  separate  divi- 
dend. 
tiJSrtir*      ^^  ^  *^  friendship  of  which  I  treat,  the  one 
thegiveHs  could  give  to  the  other,  he,  who  receives  the  fiivour, 
ch^*^  ^"  would  thereby  lay  his  companion  under  the  obliga- 
«^ter.      tion ;  for  each  o£  them  seeking  above  all  things  to 
be  useful  to  one  another,  he  that  frimishes  the  ihat* 
ter  and  the  occasion,  is  the  liberal  man,  in. giving  his 
friend  the  satis&ction  of  doing  that  for  him  which  he 
most  desires.      When  the  phik>sopher,  Diogenes, 
wanted  money,  he  said,  ^*  that  he  re-demanded,  it  of 
"  his  friends,  and  not  demanded  it."t    And  to  let 
you  see  a  full  proof  of  this  practice,  I  will  here  re- 
late an  instance  of  it  in  amcient  history,  which  is 
.  very  singular.     Eudamidos,  a  Corinthian,  who  was  a 
"poor  man,  had  two  friends  who  were  wealthy,  viz* 
Charixenus  a  Syconian,  and  Aretheus  a  Corinthian,  to 


;  *  Diog.  Laer.  in  the  Life  of  Aristotle,  lib.  y.  sect.  20.  . 
f  Diogr  Laer.  in  the  Life  of  Diogenet  the  Cynic,  lib.  vi.  8ect.46* 


OF  FRIfiNDiiHm  227 

xehoniy  on  his  death-bed,  he  left  these  legacies  by  Im 
last  wUl  and  testament,  viz.*  '^  I  leaveit  to.Aretheus 
*^  to  keep  my  mother,  and  to  maintain  her  in  her  old 
^^  age ;  to  Charixehus  to  provide  a  husband  for  my 
«^  daughter,  and  to  give  her  as  good  a  portion  as  he 
^  can,  and  in  case  one  of  these  friends  happens  to 
^^  die,  I  substitute  tile  survivor  in  his  place/'  They 
who.  first  saw  this  will,  made  themselves . verry  merry 
with  it,  but  his  executors,  being  made  acquainted 
with  it,  accepted  of  the  trust  with,  a  particular 
]deasure :  and  one  of  them,  viz.  Charixenus,  dying 
within  five  days  after,  Aretheus,  on  whom  the  charee 
of  both  thereby  devolved,  took  special  care  of  the 
mother,  and,  of  five  talents,  which  he  had  in  the 
bank,  he  gave  two  and  a  half  in  marriage  with  an 
only  daughter  he  had  of  his  own,  and  the  other  two 
and  a  haff  in  marriage  with  the  daughter  of  Euda^ 
midas,  whose  nuptials  were  both  solemnized  on  the 
same  daj. 

This  instance  is  very  fuU  to  the  point,  Were  it  not  Perfect 
for  one  objection,  viz.  the  number  of  friends.    ^or\^^l^^l^^ 
the  perfect  friendship  whereof  I  am  speaking  is  in^  bie. 
(^visible.    Each  of  me  two  gives  himself  up  so  en- 
tirely to  his  friend,  that  he  has  nothing  left  to  dis- 
pose of  elsewhere ;  on  the  contrary,  he  is  sorry  that 
he  is  not  double,  treble,  or  quadruple,  and  that,  he 
has  not  a  plurality  of  souls  and  of  wUls,  to  confer 
them  all  upon  this  subject*. 

As  for  the  ordinanr  friendships,,  they  are  divisiWe.  The  ordt. 
One  may  love  the  beauty  of  this,  the  courtesy  ofJJ5%^,,,jpi 
that  person,  the  •  liberality  of  a  third,  the  paternal  ">ay  be 
affection  of  one,  the  brotherly  love  of  another,  and  so  li^^p^^ 
of  the  rest ;  butasfi^r  this  friendship  which  engrosses  ■<»«». 
the  whole  soul,  and  governs  it  with  absolute  sway,  it 
is  impossible  it  shoudd  be  twofold.     If  two  at  the 
same  time  should  call  on  you  for  help,  to  which  of 
them  would  you  run  ?  Kthey  desired  contrary  offices 

*  This  instance  is  taken  from  a  Dialogue  of  Lucian  entitled 
Tozaris. 

Q2 


99B  6t  tSt£irD8&». 

of  yoti,  how  would  jou  order  it?  Should  t!ie  ohe 
ehftrge  you  with  the  keeping  of  a  secret,  which  it 
iras  prcmer  thejr  both  should  know,  how  woidd  yoa 
come  on? 
A  diisdar '   The  friendship   which  is  of  the   sin^ukr    and 
f!wSM^,  sovereign  kind,  dissolves  all  other  obligations.    The 
diKowes '  secret,  wluch  I  have  sworn  not  to  reveal  to  another,  I 
^1^^   may  without  peijuxT  communicate  to  -him  who  is  not 
ti«n.       imother,  but  myself.    It  is  miraculous  enough  for  a 
man  to  double  himself,  bot  they  who  talk  of  trebling 
Ihemsehres  know  not  yrhat  they  say.    Nothing  is  ex« 
treme  that  has  its  like ;  and  whoever  supposes,  that 
of  twofNBSBons,  I  love  one  as  much  as  the  other,  and 
that  they  mutually  love  another,  and  love  me  u 
much  as  I  Jove  ihem,  h^  multiplies  into  a  fiatemity, 
the  greatest  and  most  suurle  m  units,  of  which  one 
alone  is  also  the  rarest  thing  in  the  wcnrld  to  find. 
Xhe  remain]]]^  part  of  this  story  agrees  very  wdl  with 
what  I  was  saying ;  for  Eudiuhidas,  as  a  grace  and 
favour  to  his  fiiends,  employs  them  sn  his  oeces^ty, 
and  leaves  them  heirs  to  this  liberality  of  his,  which 
consists  in  giving  them  an  qpportunity  of  dcdng  him 
a  0ood  office.    And,  without  doubt,  the  power  of 
friendship  is  more  eminently  apparent  in  this  action 
of  his,  than  in  that  of  Aretneus.    In  fine,  these  are 
lefiects  not  to  be  imagined  by  such  as  have  not  had 
experience  of  them,  and  there&re  I  highly  honour 
the  answer  of  the  young  soldier  to  Cyrus,  who,  when 
he  asked  him  what  he  would  take  for  a  horse,  with 
which  he  had  just  won  the  prize  at  a  race,  and 
whether  he  would  exchitnge  tiim  for  a  kin»lom  ? 
•*  No,  truly.  Sir,'*  said  he,  "but  I  would  fredy  part 
*    ^  with  him  to  gain  a  £dend,  could  I  find  a  muk 
^  worthy  of  such  a  relation.'**     He  was  ri^t  enough 
in  saying,  "  could  I  find,'*  for  though  it  is  an  easy 
matter  to  find  persons  qualified  for  a  superficial  ac« 
euaintance,  yet,  in  such  a  league  of  ^men^hip  as 
this,  wherein  the  negotiation  is  carried  on  firom  the 

*  Cyropsdia,  lib.  yuL  Wf.  S,  i^cU  11, 12r 


OF  miEKDaHip.*  ^g§ 

very  bottom  of  the  heart,  without  any  reserve,  it  ib 
requisite  that  all  the  springs  and  movements  of  it 
should  be  clear  and  peirectly  sure. 

In  confedersicies  which  hold  but  by  one  end,  orwkatiis*. 
have  but  one  point  to  serve,  there  needs  J^othing^J^^ 
more  than  to  make  provision  for  the  imperfectioiuciei.  ^^ 
which  particularly  concern  that  end.    It  can  be  of 
no  moment  what  religion  my  physician  is  of,  or  my 
lawyer,  this  being  a  consideration  quite  foreign  to 
the  offices  of  friendship,  which  they  owe  me. 

I  am  altogether  as  indifierent  in  regard  to  my  do- And  in  4«. 
kn^tic'acquaiiitance  with  my  servants :  I  am  not  so  JJ2^*^ 
inquisitive  to  know  whether  my  footman  be  chaste^  teace. 
as  whether  he  be  diligent;   and  am  not  so  much 
in  fear  that  my  chairman  is  a  gamester,  as  that  he  ia 
weak  i  or  my  cook  a  swearer,  as  that  he  is  ignorant* 
I  do  not  take  upon  me  to  dictate  what  others  should 
do  i  there  are  enough  that  are  guil^  of  this.    I 
<mly  give  an  account  of   what  X  do  in   my  own 
boii^: 

Miki  sic  usus  est  I  TUi  ut  opus  esi  facto,  face J^ 

This  has  my  pracdoe  been  5  but  thou  may'st  do. 
What  iQteKst  or  pleasure  prompu  thee  to. 

/  in  table-talk,  JL  prefer  the  merry  man  before  the 
'  wise  one ;  m  bed,  beauty  before^  goochiessj  and  in 
common  conversation,  the  mosrabr&  speaker,  even 
though  he  does  not  always  mean  what  he  says ;  and 
so  of  other  things.  If  he  that  was  found  riding  on 
a  hobby-horse,t  at  play  with  his  diildren,  desired  the 
man,  who  surprised  mm  at  it,  to  3ay  nothing  of  the 
matter  till  he  came  to  be  a  father  himself,  imagining, 
that  the  passion  of  fondness,  which  would  then  arise 
in  his  soul,  would  render  him  a  more  proper  judge  of 
such  an  action ;  so  I  woiild  wish  to  be  read  by  such 
as  have  had  experience  of  what  I  say  j  but  knowing 

•  Terence  Heaut.  act  1,  scepe  l,Ter.2S. 
f  It  was  Agetikus  who  was  found  thus  playing  with  his  childlren. 
Plutarch  in  the  life  of  AgesilauSi  cap.  9. 


230  07  FRIENDSHIP. 

liow  different  such  friendship  is  from  the  way  of  the 
world,  and  howdiard  it  is  to  be  found,  I  do  not  ex- 
pect to  meet  with  any  person  qualified  to  be  a  judge 
of  the  thing.  For  even  those  discourses,  left  us  on 
this  subject  by  the  ancients,  are  flat  and  languid,  ac- 
cording to  my  notion  of  the  matter.  And  in  this 
point  the  effects  surpass  the  precepts  of  philosophy : 

jyi7  ego  confulerim  jucundo  sanus  anUco,* 

I  know  no  pleasure  that  can  health  attead, 
'  E^ual  to  that  q{  a  facetious  friend. 

Menander-  pronounced  that  man  happy  who  had 
the  good  fortune  to  meet  with  the  shadow  of  a 
friend  :t  and  indeed  he  had  good  reason  for  saying 
so,  if  he  spoke  by  experience.  For,  in  truth,  if  1 
compare  all  the  rest  of  my  life,  though,  God  be 
thanked,  I  have  always  lived  easy  and  pleasant,  and 
(excepting  thc^  loss  of  such  a  friend)  exempt  from 
any  grievous  affliction,  and  in  great  tranquillity  of 
mind,  having  been  contented  with  my  natural  and 
original  conveniences,  without  being  solicitous  for 
others,  if  I  compare  it  all>  I  say,  to  those  four  years 
that  I  had  the  enjoyment  of  the  sweet  conversation 
of  this  excellent  man,  it  is  all  but  smoke,  and  one 
darl^  tedious  night,     Froip  the  day  that  I  lost  him 


-  Quem  semper  acerbttm. 


Semper  honoratum  {sic  Dii  voluistis)  habelo.X 
Which,  since 'lis  heav*n's  decree,  though  too  severe, 
I  shall  lament,  but  ever  shall  revere, 

I  have  only  languished  in  life,  and  the  very  pleasures 
that  present  themselves  to  me,  instead  of  comforting 
me,  double  my  affliction  for  the  loss  pf  him.  We 
w  ere  half  sharers  in  every  thing ;  and,  methinks,  by 
outliving  him,  I  defraud  him  of  his  share : 

*  Hor.  lib.  i.  sat  5^  ver.  44. 

t  Plutarchy  in  his  Tract  of  Brotherly  Love,  cap.  3« 

^  Virg.  i£neid,  lib.  v.  yer,  49, 50. 


Nee*  JUS  essetdla  me  voJuptitte  Hie  Jrut   ^     '  ' 
'   '  Decreviy  tanthper  dum  Ule  abestp  meus  particeps^f 

No  pleasing  Ihoug^  shall  e'er  my  soul  employ^ 
While  he  Is  absent  who  was  aU  my  jory, 

I  was  actually  so  constituted,  and  so  accustomed  to 
be  his  second  part  at  all  times  and  places,  that, 
methinks,  I  have  but  one  half  of  myself  left : 

jih  !  te  moB  si  partem  onhius  rapit 
Maturior  vis,  quid  moror  altera. 
Nee  chorus  ieque^  nee  superstee 
Integer?  Illediesutramque 
Ducet  rumamJl 

Should  you,  dasi  be  snatch^'d  away. 
Wherefore,  ah1  wherefore  should Istay: 
My  comfort  lost,  myseflf  not  whole,  -    • 

And  but  possessinff  half  my  soul  1 
One  &tal  day  shaU  seize  on  botli. 

There  is  no  action  or  imagination  of  mine  "wlierein  I 
do  not  miss  him^  as  much  as  if  he  had  been  really 
created  for  me ;  for  as  he  infinitely  surpassed  me  in 
virtue,  and  every  other  accomplishmentj  Jie  also  did 
the  same  in  the  duties  of  friendship: 

C^desiderio  sit  pudor^  out  modus 
Tom  chart  capitis  P§ 

Why  should  we  stop  the  flowbg  tear? 
Why  blush  to  weep  for  one  so  dear  ? 

0  nusero,  frater  adempte^  mihi  t 
Omma  tecum  una  perierunt  gaudtattostra, 
:   Qute  tuus  in  vita,  dulds  alehat  amor. 
Tu  mea,  tu  moriens  fregisti  commoda,  frater. 

Tecum  una  tota  est  nostra  sepuUa  anrnia*   . 
Cujus  ego  inleritu  tota  de  mente  fiigavi 

HiPC  studia*  atque  omnes  ddictas  antmi.   ' 
jiUoquor  f  audtero  nunquam  tua  verba  loquentemf 

Nunquam  ego  te  vita,  Jrater  amabiUor, 
*    Aspiciam  post  hoc  f  (d  certe  semperamaloJ^ 

*  Montaigne  has  here  made  some  litde  ▼ariatkm  im  Terence*j 
iFords,  for  the  sake  of  applying  them  to  his  subject, 

\  Terence  Heaut.  act  I,  scene  I,  ver.  d7f  9&  ^ 

X  Hor.lib.  ii;odezviLTer.5,&c«  ^ 

§  I}or.  Ub.  i.  ode  xxiv.  ver.  1,2.  « 

II  Catulltis,  eclogue  lxyi.?eK.  20— 26.  EcIog.lxiii*yer.9^  1(V  11« 


JU9  OrrBIEKMR9« 

Ah !  brother^  what  a  life  did  I  oDmtDCOCc, 

From  that  sad  day  wheD  tho^  wast  snatch'd  fton  heaoe  r 

Those  joys  are  vanish'd  which  my  heart  once  knew^ 

When  in  sweet  convene  all  our  moments  flew : 

With  thee  departing,  my  ^ood  fortune  fled. 

And  all  my  soul  is  lifeless  smce  thou*rt  dead. 

The  Muses  attby  fun'ral  I  foFBOok, 

And  of  all  joy  my  leave  for  ever  took. 

Dearer  than  life !  am  I  so  wretchecl  then, 

Never  to  hear  or  speak  to  thee  again  ? 

Nor  see  those  lips,  now  frozen  up  by  deaih  ? 

Yet  I  will  love  thee  to  my  latest  oreath ! 

But  let  US  hear  a  little  what  this  lad  of  sixteen 
years  of  age  says ;  ^^  Having  discovered  that  those 
^<  memoirs,  upon  the  fiimous  edict  of  January  Qmen- 
"^  tioned  towards  the  beginning  of  this  .chapter),  are 
♦*  already  printed,  and  with  a  had  design,  oy  some, 
^^  who  make  it  their  business  to  molest  and  to  sub« 
**  vert  the  state  of  our  government,  not  cariDg 
**  whether  they  amend  it  or  no,  and  that  they 
*V  have  published  it  in  a  miscellanjr  of  other  pieces 
**  of  their  own  writing,  I  diesisted  'from  my  desi^ 
^*  of  inserting  it  here.  And  to  the  end  that  the 
"  memory  of  the  author  may  not  sufier  with  such  as 
'^^  were  not  intimate  enough  with  him  to  have  a 
^  thorough  knowledge  of  his  opiinons  and  his  p^n 
*^  formances,  I  hereby  give  him  to  understand,  that 
^^  this  suUect  was  treated  by  him  in  his  youth,  and 
^  that  only  by  wa^  of  exercising  his  geuiiis,  it  being 
^^  a  common  subject  that  has  been  canvassed  by 
*<  writers  in  a  thousand  places.  I  make  no  doubt 
**  but  he  himself  beKeved  what  he  writ,  being  so 
^  very  conscientious  that  he  would  not  be  guilty  of 
^<  tellmg  a  lie,  even  in  jest ;  and  I  knoifir)  moreover, 
^  that  if  it  had  been  piit  to  his  choice,  that  he  had 
*•  rather  have  been  bom  at  Venice  th^n  at  Scarlac, 
*^  and  he  had  reason.  But  he  had.  another  maxim 
**  deeply  imprinted  in  his  mind,  very  religiously  to 
^  obey  and  submit  to  the  laws  under  which  he  was 
•>  bom.  There  never  was  a  better  subject,  nor  a 
«.<  greater    well-wisher  to  the  tranquilhfy  of  his 


A  LKTTER  TO  MADAH  DS  ORAMMONT.  SS) 

*^  ccmntry,  nor  oro  thi^  more  opposed  the  eom« 
^^  motions  and  innovations  of  the  time  he  lived  in, 
^^  so  that  he  would  much  rather  have  employed  his 
'*  talents  to  suppress  them,  than  to  have  inflamed 
*^  them  more ;  tor  be  had  a  mind  formed  after  the 
*^  model  of  other  times  than  these.  Now,  in  exm 
^^  change  for  this  serious  piece,  I  will  present  yoq 
^  with  anotiber  .that  is  more  gay  and  airy,  written  by 
^^  thefiMnehand^atthesameage/* 


CHAPTER  XXVIII, 

A    Letter  to  Madam  de  Gramnwntf  Countess  of. 
Guissen^  with  twenty^nine  Sonnets. 

JVIaDAM,  I  offer  your  ladyship  nothing  of  minq, 
either  because  it  is  already  yours,  or  because  I  find 
nothing  of  my  writing  worthy  of  you :  but  I  was 
desirous  that  these  verses,  into  what  part  of  the 
world  soever  they  travel,  may  carry  your  name  ia^ 
the  front,  for  the  honour  that  will  accrue  to  themy.^< 
by  having  the  great  Corisanda  de  Andonis  for  their 
guide*  1  conceive  this  present^  Madam»  the  more 
proper  for  you,  forasmucn  as  there  are  but  f^w  ladies 
Ui  France  who  have  a  better  taste  of  poetry,  and 
make  a  better  use  of  it,  than  you ;  and  none  who  can 

give  it  that  life  and  spirit  which  your  ladyship  does.^ 
y  that  sweet  and  graceful  melody  in  your  voice,  ox 
which,  among  a  million  of  other  charms,  nature  ha^ 
made  you  a  present.  These  verses.  Madam,  are 
worthy  of  your  patronage,  and  I  dare  say  you  will 
be  of  my  opinion,  that  Gascony  never  yielded  any 
that  had  more  imagination  and  elegance,  or  that 
cariy  the  marks  of  a  more  copious  rancy.  And  do 
not  be  jealous  that  you  have  out  the  remainder  of 
lirhat  I  published  under  the  patronage  of  M.  de  Foix, 
your  worthy  kinsman ;  fi)r  really,  these  have  some-t 
thing  in  them  of  more  life  and  nre,  forasmuch  as.  he 


2S4  OF  MOIXeiLATIOK*  ' 

wrote  them  in  his  greener  years^  and  when,  he 
was  inflamed  with  a  certain  noble  ^rdour,  which,  one 
day  or  other,  I  will  whisper  in  your  ear.  The  others 
were  written  aftem^^ards,  when  he  was  making  court- 
ship to  his  wife,  and  savouring  already  of  a  certain 
matrimonial  coldness.  For  my  part,  I  am  of  the 
same  opinion  with  those,  who  think  that  poetry  ap- 
pears .  no  where  so  gay  as  it  does  on  a  wanton  and 
irregular  subject.  These  twent^*nine  >  sonnets  of 
Stephen  de  Boetius,  which  ^ere  inserted  in  this  let- 
ter formerly,*  have  since  been  printed  with  his  works. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Of  Moderation^ 

X  HIN6S  which  are  in  themselves  fair  and  good, 

are  liable  to  be  spoiled  by  our  handling,  as  if  there 

Whether    was  something  infectious  in  our  very  touch.     Virtue 

li^l^u^"  .itself  will  become  vice  if  we  dasp  it  with  a  desire 

•iter  with  too. eager  and  violent     As  for  saying  that  there  is 

Vdl^ncv.never  any  excess  of  virtue,  because  it  is  no  longer 

virtue  if  there  be  excess  in  it,  it  is  mere  playing 

upon  words: 

Insani  sapiem  nomenferatf  aequm  imqui^ 
Ultra  qudm  salts  esi^  virtuiem  si  petal  ipsamf 

Mad  grows  the  wise,  the  just  unjust  is  found. 
When  e'en  to  Tirtue  they  prescribe  no  bound. 

This  is  a  subtle  consideration  in  philosophy.  A  mail 
may  both  be  too  much  in  love  with  virtue,  and  cany 
himself  to  excess  in  a  just  action.     Holy  writ  agrees 

*  They  are  inserted  in  Abel  Angelier's  quarto  edition,  printed  at 
Paris  in  1588.  I  do  not  swell  this  edition  with  them,  because  I  do 
not  find  any  thing  in  them  that  is  very  afiecting ;  for  they  scarce  con- 
tain any  thing  in  them  but  amorous  complaints,  expressed  in  a  very 
rough  style,  discovering  the  follies  and  outrages  oi  a  restless  pas. 
aion/overgorged,  as  it  werei  with  jealousies,  fears,  and  suspicions. 

t  Hor.  lib.  L  epist.  6. 


OF  K0DERATI0I7.  235 

with  this  way  of  thinkings  St.  Paul's  Epistle  to  the 
Komans,  ch.  xii..ven  3.  "No  man  should  think  of 
*'  himsdf  more  highly  than  he  ought,  but  think  so- 
**  berly.*^  I  knew  a  great  man  who  blemished  his 
reputation  for  religion,  by  making  a  show  of  greater 
devotion  thafi  all  men  of  his  condition.*  I  love  na- 
tures that  are  temperate,  and  between  the  extremes. 

An  immoderate  zeal,  even  for  that  which  is  good.  An  inmo. 
'though  it  does  not  offend  me,  astonishes  me ;  and  I  fo^iilt*** 
really  am  at  a  loss  what  name  to  give  it.    Neither  the  ^"«*"  ^ 
mother  of  Pau8anias,t  who  first  pointed  out  the  way,***^ 
and  laid  the  first  stone  for  the  destruction  of  her  son; 
nor  the  dictator  Posthumius,  who  put  his  son  to  deaths 
whom  the  heat  of  youthfbl  blood  had  pushed  with 
Buccess  upon  the  enemy  a  little  before  the  other  sol- 

*  It  is  like  that  Montaigne  meant  Henry  III.  king  of  France. 
The  Cardinal  d'  Osaat,  writing  to  Louisa,  his  Que^i  Dowager,  tdd 
Jier,  in  bis  frank  nuuiner,  that  he  had  lived  as  much  or  more  like  « 
monk  than  a  monarch.  Letter  xxiii.  And  Sextus  Quintus  speak- 
ing of  that  prince  one  day  to  the  Cardinal  de  Joyeuse,  protector  of 
the  ^ffiurs  of  France,  said  to  him  pleasantly,  **  There  is  nothing 
^  that  your  king  hadi  not  done,  and  does  not  do  still,  to  be  a  monk, 
'^  nor  any  thii^  that  I  have  not  done,  not  to  be  a  monk.*'  See  the 
jiote  by  Amelot  de  la  Houssaye  upon  the  words  of  the  Cardinal 
d'  Ossat,  just  now  mentioned,  p.  74,  torn.  i.  of  the  Cardinal  d'  Ossat's 
Letters,  published  at  Paris  in  1698. 

f  Montaigne  would  hefe  give  us  to  understand,  upon  the  autho- 
rity of  Diodorus  of  Sicily,  that  Pausanias's  mother  gave  the  first 
hint  of  the  punishment  that  was  to  be  inflicted  on  her  son.  ^*  Paui- 
^*  sanias,'*  says  this  historian,  "perceiving  that  the  eph6ri,  and  some 
*^  other  Lacedaemonians  aimed  at  apprehending  him,  got  the  start 
'^  of  them,  and  went  and  took  sanctuary  in  Minerva's  temple :  and 
**  the  Lacedaemonians,  being  doubtful  whether  they  ought  to  take 
"  him  from  thence  in  violation  of  the  franchise  there,  it  is  said  that 
"  his,  own  mother  came  herself  to  the  temple,  but  spoke  nothing,  , 
*^  nor  did  any  thing  more  than  lay  a  piece  of  brick,  which  she 
'*  brought  with  her,  on  the  threshold  of  the  temple,  which,  when 
**  she  luul  done,  she  returned  home.  The  Lacedaemonians,  taking 
'*  the  hint  from  the  mother,  caused  the  gate  of  the  temple  to  be 
"  walled  up,  and  by  this  means  starved  Pausanias,  so  that  he  died 
*'  with  hunger,  &a"  lib.  xi.  cap.  10  of  Amyot's  translation.  The 
name  of  Pausanias's  mother  was  Alcithea,  as  we  are  informed  by 
Thucydides's  scholiast,  who  only  says  that  it  was  reported,  that 
when  they  set  about  walling  up  the  gates  of  the  chapel  in  which 
Pausanias  had  taken  refuge,  his  mother  Alcithea  laid  the  first 
stone. 


336  OF  HODEEATIOir. 

diers  of  his  rank  ;*  neither  of  these  instances,  I  sav; 
seem  to  me  so  just  as  they  are  strange  ;  and  I  shoiud 
not  like  either  to  advise  or  imitate  a  virtue,  so  savage, 
and  so  expensive.    The  archer  that  shoots  beyond 
the  mark  misses  it  as  much  as  he  that  comes  short  of 
it    And  it  offends  my  sight  as  much  to  lift  up  my 
eyes,  on  a  sudden,  towards  a  great  li^t,  as  to  cast 
them  down  to  a  dark  cavern.     Callicles,  in  Plato, 
says,  that  the  extremity  of  philosophy  is  hurtflil,  and 
advises  not  to  dive  deeper  into  it  tnan  what  may  turn 
to  good  account ;  that,  taken  with  moderation,  it  is 
pleasant  and  profitable,  but,  in  the  extreme,  it  renders 
a  man  brutish  and  vicious,  a  contenmer  of  religion 
and  the  common  laws,  an  enemy  to  civil  conversa- 
tion, and  all  human  pleasures,  incapable  of  all  polh 
tical  administration,  and  of  assisting  others,  or  even 
himself,  and  a  fit  object  to  be  buflfetted  with  impu- 
nity*   And  he  says  true ;  for  in  its  excess  it  enslaves 
our  natural  Uberiy,  and,  by  an  impertinent  curiosity, 
leads  us  out  of  the  fair  and  smooth  path,  which  has 
been  planned  out  for  us  by  nature, 
i^eto        Though  the  love  we  bear  to  our  wives  is  very  law- 
^nMbjfol^  yet  divinity  curbs  and  restrains  it    I  think  I 
4ivioity.    have  formerly  met  with  a  passage  in  St.  Thomas 
Aquinas,  where  he  condemns  marriages  within  the 
prohibited  degrees  of  consanguinity^  for  this,  amcmg 
other  reasons,  viz.  the  danger  there  is  lest  the  love  k 
husband  bears  to  such  a  wiS  should  be  immoderate; 

*  Opinions  differ  ai  to  the  truth  of  this  fact^  Titus  Livius  thinb 
he  has  good  authority  fbr  rejecting  it»  because  it  does  not  appear 
in  history  that  Posthumius  was  branded  with  it,  as  Titus  Manlius 
was,  about  100  years  after  his  time ;  for  Manlius,  having  put  his  son 
to  death  for  the  like  cause,  obtained  the  odious  name  of  Imperiosus, 
and  since  that  time  Manliana  Imperia  has  been  used  as  a  term  to 
signify  orders  that  are  too  severe ;  Manliana  Imperia,  says  Titus  Li- 
vius, .were  not  only  horrible  for  the  time  present,  but  of  a  bad  exam- 
ple to  posterity.  And  this  historian  makes  no  doubt  but  such  com- 
mands would  nave  been  actually  styled  Posthumiana  Imperia,  if  Pos- 
thumius had  been  the  first  who  set  so  barbarous  an  example.  Titus 
Livius,  lib.  iv.  cap.  20,  and  lib.  viii.  cap.  7.  But,  however,  Montaigne 
has  Valer.  Maximus  on  his  side,  who  sa^ s  expressly,  that  Postliumius 
caused  his  son  to  be  put  to  death,  lib.  iL  cap.  766,  aad  Diodorus  of 
Sicily,  lib.  xiL  cap.  19. 


<tt  MODEftATIOir.    .  ±Si 

for  if  the  conjugal  affection  be  as  entire  and  perfect 
as  it  ought,  and  it  be  increased,  moreover,  by  that 
which  is  due  to  consanguinity,  there  is  no  doubt  but 
such  an  addition  woum  cany  the  husband  beyond 
ibe  bounds  of  reason. 

The  sciences  which  regulate  the  manners  of  man«  m^mtf 
kind,  viz*  theology  and  philosophy,  dictate  in  every  ^^^  ^^ 
thing.    Tliere  is  no  action,  be  it  ever  so  private  and  u^  iL 
aeci^  that  can  escape  their  cognizance  and  juris-  ^^ 
diction.    Hiis  liberty  assumed  by  philosophy  and 
theology,*  is  what  none  but  the  ignorant  and  the 
vulgar  take  it  in  their  heads  to  find  fault  with :  and 
in  fliis  they  are  like  the  wives  who  expose  their  parts 
firedy  enough  to  their  gallants,  but  are  shy  or  dis* 
covering  them  to  the  ptiysician  or  the  surgeon.    I 
will  therefore,  on  the  part  of  philosophy  and  divinity, t 
give  this  lesson  to  the  husbands,  if  such  there  be  who 
are  too  libidinous  in  the  conjugal  state,  viz.  That  the 
very  pleasures  they  enjoy  in  their  converse  with  their 
•wives,  are  blameable  if  immoderate,  and  that  a  licen* 
tious  and  intemperate  abuse  of  it  is  as  great  an  error 
with  a  legitimate  subject  as  with  one  that  is  illegid** 
mate.    As  for  the  immodest  caresses  which  the  first 
ardour  suggests  to  us  in  this  afikir,  there  is  not  only 
an  mdecency  in  employing  them  with  our  wives,  but 
a  detrim^it.    Let  them  at  least  learn  impudence 
from  another  hand.    They  are  always  alert  enough 
for  our  occasions.    The  instruction  l  have  made  use 
of  is  perfectly  natural  and  plain. 

Marriage  is  a  solemn  and  sacred  tie ;  therefore  the  Marrb^c^v 
pleasure  we  extract  from  it  should  be  temperate  and  ^^^^^^  ^ 

*  If  this  be  the  sense  of  Montaigne's  words,  as  I  think  it  to  be, 
Mr.  Cotton^  in  his  English  translation,  has  very  niudi  mistaken  it, 
where  he  sayai  **  But  they  are  best  taught,  who  are  best  able  to 
^  censure  and  curb  their  own  liberty/'  This  is  a  constructioii 
vhidi  does  not  tally  at  all  with  what  goes  before,  and  much  less 
frith  what  Mows. 

f  Here  the  English  translator  is  likewise  mistaken,  where  he  ^^a^ 
^  1  will  on  the  behalf  of  the  wives  teach  the  husband,  Sec*'  Few 
wives  would  tiimk  themselyes  obliged  to  ibank  Montaigne  for  suc)i  a 
ksicm  to  their  husbands. 


2d  8  Ot  MODCEAtidlf. 

serious,  with  a  mixture  of  gravity.  .  It  ought  to  bd 
a  pleasure  in  some  sort  discreet  and  conscientious. 
c«ogr^«        The  chief  end  of  it  being  generation,  it  is  a  matter 
Bant  wo^~  of  doubt  with  some  people,  whether,  when  there  are 
Ben^prohi.|jQ  hopcs  of  issue,  as  wnen  women  are  past  the  age 
of  child-bearing,  or  when  they  are  actually  pregnant, 
it  is  lawful  to  court  their  embraces.     It  is  homicide, 
according  to  Plato,  (De  Legibus,  lib.  viii.  p.  912, 
C.  Francofurti,  apud  Claudium  Maraium,  &c.  anno 
I602).     Certain  nations,  and  particularly  the  Maho- 
metans, abominate  conjunction  with  women  that  are 
already  with  child ;  and  many  also  with  those  that 
.    are  in  the  menstrual  terms. 
Conjoirai       Zenobia  would  never  admit  her  husband  for  more 
•Mitiiiency.u^j^jj  onc  eucountcr,  after  which  she  left  him  to  take 
his  range  abroad,  during  the  whole  time  of  her  con-* 
ception,  and  only  allowed  him  to  come  to  her  bed 
again  after  she  was  delivered.*     A  noble  and  gene- 
rous example  this  in  the  married  state  !t    It  must 
certainly  be  from  some  poor  but  very  lascivious  poet, 
that  Plato  $  borrowed  the  following  story,  viz.  That 
Jupiter  was  one  day  so  hot  upon  his  wife,  that  not 
having  patience  to  stay  till  she  was  in  bed,  he  threw 
her  down  upon  the  floor,  where,  so  vehement  was  his 

{>lea$ure,  that  he  forgot  the  great  and  important  reso^ 
utions  which  he  had  just  entered  into  with  the  other 
gods,  in  his  celestial  court,  and  boasted  that  he  had  j 
as  much  pleasure  in  that  bout,  as  when  he  first  got  I 
her  maidenhead  unknown  to  their  parents. 
wiva  of       The  Persian  monarchs  invited  their  wiyes  to  their 
P*^*°S^^'feasts ;  but  when  the  wine  began  to  operate  in  good 
received  ateamcst,  aud  that  they  could  not  help  giving  a  loose 

*  Montaigne  has  taken  this  passage  from  Trebellius  Pollio's  Ze* 
nobia,  p.  199,  Hist.  August* 

f  Plutarch,  in  his  Matrimonial  Precepts,  sect  14. 

%  Mon^i^e  here  ridicules  Homer  witlwut  thinking  of  it,  for 
this  fiction  is  undoubtedly  taken  from  the  Uiad,  lib.  zit*  ver.  19^ 
S53.  See  Plato's  Republic,  lib.  iii.  p.  433,  printed  at  I^obs,  by 
William  Leemar,  in  1590.  If  Montaigne  had  looked  into  H(Hner,  m 
would  not  have  been  so  mistaken  as  he  has  been  in  some  drcum* 
stances  of  this  affiiir. 


OP  M0B2BATI0N'.  S39 

to  pleasure,  they  sent  them  back  to  tUeur  privtttb  their  fcto. 
apartments,  that  they  might  not  participate  in  their '**^ 
immoderate  lust,  and  sent  for  otner  women  in  their 
stead,  to  whom  they  were  not  obliged  to  pay  so  much 
respect.  AH  pleasures  and  gratifications  do  not  suit 
all  persons.  Epaminondas  having  caused  a  debauched 
youth  to  be  imprisoned,  Pelopidas  begged  that,  for 
nis  sake,  he  would  grant  him  his  liberty.*  He  re- 
fused the  favour  to  relopidas,  but  granted  it  at  the 
first  word  to  a  wench  of^his  who  made  the  same  in- 
tercession, saying,  **  that  it  was  a  gratification  due 
**  to  a  mistress,  but  not  to  a  captain."  Sophocles, 
passing  along  by  accident,  cried  out,  "  Oh  ]f  what  a 
**  delicate  boy  is  that!"  whereupon  Pericles  said  to 
him,  this  would  do  well  for  any  body  but  a  praetor, 
who  ought  not  only  to  have  clean  hands  but  chaste 
eyes.t 

^lius  Verus,  the  emperor,  when  his  empress  re-  coqjagrt 
proached  him  with  his  love  to  other  women,  told  herj^'^^j"^^" 
that  a  principle  of  conscience  was  his  motive  for  it,  companted 
forasmuch  as  marriage  was  a  state  of  honour  and  dig-  J^'^.**' 
nity,t  and  not  of  toying  and  lascivious  concupis- 
cence.    And  our  church  history  holds  the  memory 
of  that  wife  in  great  veneration,  who  parted  with  her 
husband  rather  than  comply  with  and  bear  his  inde- 
cent and  inordinate  dalliances.     In  short,  there  is 
no  pleasure  how  justifiable  soever,  wherein  we  are 
not  blameable  for  taking  it  with  excess  and  intem- 
perance. 

But  to  speak  the  truth,  is  not  man  a  wretched  Man  •■! 
animal.     It  is  scarce  in  his  power,  by  his  state  of  JJ^^JJ^^ 
nature,  to  taste  a  single  pleasure  pure  and  entire; 
and  yet  he  is  labouring  for  arguments  to  curtail  that 
imperfect  pleasure  he  has :  he  is  not  yet  wretched 


*  Plutarch  in  his  instructions  to  those  who  manage  state  affiurs» 
obap.  9.    Ainyot*s  translation. 

t  Cic  de  Offic.  lib.  i.  cap.  40. 
^  '  I  ^L  Bpartaani  ^lius  VeruSy  p.  15>  16.    Hist.  August!  iafolio^ 
printed  at  Paris,  anno  1620. 


240  et  MODEftATIOS. 

cnought  unless  by  art  and  study  he  increases  his  owtt 
misery: 

FbrturuB  miseras  auxtmus  arte  vids.* 

We  with  misfortune  'gainst  ourselves  talce  pait^ 
And  our  sad  destiny  increase  by  art. 

Human  wisdom  makes  a  very  foolish  use  of  its  ta* 
lents,  by  exercising  them  in  abating  the  number  and 
relish  or  those  pleasures  which  we  have  a  right  to ;  as, 
on  the  other  hand,  it  acts  fiivourably  and  industriously 
in  employing  its  skill  to  put  a  doss  and  disguise 
upon  the  misfortunes  of  lire  to  aUeviate  the  sense  of 
them*  Had  I  been  the  chief  manager,  I  should  have 
taken  another  more  natural  course,  which,  to  say  the 
truth,  is  convenient  and  sacred,  and  perhaps  I  should 
have  been  able  to  set  limits  to  it ;  although  our  phy- 
sicians, both  spiritual  and  temporal,  as  if  they  had 
combined  togetner,  can  find  no  other  method  of  cure, 
or  remedy  for  the  diseases  of  the  body  and  soul,  than 
by  torment,  sorrow,  and  pain.  To  this  end  watch- 
ings,  fastings,  penances,  far  distant  and  solitary  ba- 
nishments, perpetual  imprisonments,  scourgings,  and 
other  afflictions,  have  been  introduced  into  the  world; 
yea,  and  on  such  a  condition,  that  they  should  be 
real  afflictions,  and  carry  a  sting  in  their  tails ;  and 
that  the  consequence  thereof  should  not  be  as  hap- 
pened to  one  Gallio,*  who,  having  been  banished  to 
the  isle  of  Lesbos,  news  was  brought  to  Rome,  that 
he  lived  as  merry  there  as  the  day  was  long,  and  that 
his  banishment  did  not  prove  his  punishment  but  his 
pleasure ;  for  this  reason  they  thought  fit  to  recall 
him  to  his  wife  and  family,  and  confined  him  to  his 
own  house,  to  make  him  more  sensible  of  their 
punishments.t  For  to  the  person  whom  fasting 
would  make  more  healthful  and  sprightly,   and  to 

*  Propert  lib.  iii.  eleg.  ii.  ver*  S9. 

f  A  Roman  senator  banished  for  having  ofiSmded  TiberiuSy  m 
may  be  seen  in  Tacit.  Annals,  lib.  vL  cap.  2. 

X  According  to  Tacitus,  be  was  recalled  to  Rono^  to  be  keg^ 
there  in  the  custody  of  the  magistratesi  ibid^ 


OP  MO]>ERATION.  24fl 

whose  palate  &h  would  be  more  agreeable  than 
flesh,  the  prescription  of  either,  medicinally,  would 
be  of  no  salutary  effect,  no  more  than  drugs  in  the 
other  sort  of  physic,  which  have  no  effect  with  him 
who  takes  them  with  an  appetite  and  pleasure.  The 
bitterness  of  the  potion,  and  the  aversion  of  the 
patient  to  it,  are  circumstances  that  conduce  to  the 
operation.  Rhubarb  itself  would  be  of  no  virtue  to 
the  constitution  which  is  used  to  it.  It  must  be 
something  which  offends  the  stomach  that  must  cure 
it ;  and  here  the  common  rule,  that  things  are  cured 
by  their  contraries,  fails;  for  in  this,  one  evil  is 
cured  by  another. 

This  notion  has  some  resemblance  with  that  which  The  Hicri.. 
was  anciently  embraced  by  all  religions  and  sects,  ^^*^*''»n- 
that  massacre  and  homicide  were  acceptable  to  the  pi^ti^  * 
cods  and  to  nature.     Even  in  the  time  of  our  fore-  ^imou  ail" 
rathers,  Amurath  sacrificed  600  young  Greeks  to  the  rcSgion*. 
manes  of  his  father,  with  a  view  that  their  blood 
might  serve  as  a  propitiatory  atonement  for  the  sins 
of  nis  deceased  parent. 

And  in  those  new  countries  discovered  in  this  age  How  pnu-. 
of  ours,  which  are  pure  as  yet,  and  virgins,  in  com-^'^^^^JJ^'^ 
parison  of  ours,  this  practice  is  in  some  degree  uni- 
versally received.     AJl  their  idols  reek  with  human 
blood,  not  without  sundry  examples  of  horrid  cruelty. 
Some  they  put  ahve  into  a  fire,  and  take  them  half 
roasted  out  of  it,  to  tear  out  their  hearts  and  bowels: 
others,  even  women,  they  flea  alive,  and  put  their 
bloody  skins  on  the  bodies  of  others.     There  are  also  wooderfui 
striking  instances  among  them  of  constancy  and  reso-^J'JJl^^y 
lution.     For  these  poor  victims,  old  men,  women,  who  are 
and  children,  go  out  some  days  before  to  beg  almsJJ^J^^^*** 
for  the  offering  of  their  sacrince,  and  present  them- 
selves to  the  slaughter,  singing  and  dancing. 

The  king  of  Mexico's  ambassador,  representing  the  The  prodi- 
great  power  of  their  master  to  Fernando  Cortez,^*J"^J^ 
after  having  told  him  that  he  had  30  vassals,  each  officii  h^^ ' 
whom  could  assemble  100,000  fighting  men,  and  thatjj^^'jj.^*"^ 
he  kept  his  court  in  the  fairest  and  best  fortified  city 

VOL.  !•  R 


^49  OF  CANIOBAIS* 

undfer  the  sun,  added  that  he  had  50,000  men  to 
spare,  every  year,  for  a  sacrifice  to  the  gods. ,  They 
actually  affirm,  that  he  maintained  a  war  with  some 
great  neighbouring  nations,  not  only  for  the  exercise 
of  the  youths  of  the  country,  but  cniefly  to  have  pri- 
soners of  war  enough  for  his  sacrifices. 
Compii-        At  a  certain  town,  moreover,  they  sacrificed  50 
'^''"^^P****men  at  one  time  for  the  welcome  of  Cortez,  to  which 
Americans  I  will  add  this  story.     Some  of  these  nations,  being 
^^™J^  defeated  by  him,  sent  to  compliment  him,  and  to 
court  his  friendship ;  and  the  messenger  carried  him 
three  sorts  of  presents,  which  they  delivered  him  in 
this  manner :  Behold,  lord,  here  are  five  slaves ;  if 
thou  art  a  fierce  god  whose  diet  is  flesh  and  blood, 
eat  these,  and  we  will  bring  thee  more.    If  thou  act 
a  gracious  god,  here  are  plumes  of  feathers,  and  in- 
cense i  but  if  thou  art  a  man,  take  these  fowls  and 
fruits  that  we  have  brought  thee. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Of  Cannibals. 

W  HEN  king  Pyrrhns,  upon  his  entrance  into 
Italy,  saw  the  order  of  the  Roman  army,  that  was 
sent  to  meet  him,*  "  I  know  not,"  said  hei  *•  what 
'^  kind  of  Barbarians  (for  so  the  Greeks  call  other 
^^  naticHis)  these  may  be  ;  but  the  dii^osition  of  the 
"  army,  which  I  now  see,  has  nothing  of  the  Bar- 
"  barian  in  it."  The  same  was  said  by  the  Greeks 
concerning  the  army  which  Flaminius  sent  into  their 
country ;  and  by  Pnilip,  when  he  discovered,  from 
an  eminence,  the  order  and  distribution  of  the  Ro- 
man camp,  in  his  kingdom,  under  Publius  Sulpitius 
Gaiba.     By  this  it  appeai*s  how  cautious  men  ought 

*  Pluurch,  in  the  Life  of  Pyrrha*. 


OP  CAXNIBALS.  S43 

to  be  of  taking  things  upon  trust,  from  vulgar  opi- 
nion, and  that  we  are  to  judge  by  the  eye  of  reasony 
and  not  from  common  report. 

I  had  a  man  with  me  a  long  time,  who  had  lived  R^flcctioni 
ten  or  twelve  years  in  the  world  lately  discovered,  coTei^  "r 
and  that  part  of  itsumamed  Antarctic  France.  This^^^^^*^^ 
discovery  of  so  vast  a  country  seems  to  be  of  very  ^* 
great  importance ;  and  we  are  not  sure,  that  there 
may  not  be  another  discovered  hereafter^  so  many 

f -eater  mtn  than  we  having  been  deceived  in  this. 
am  afraid  that  our  ^es  are  biggeir  than  our  bellies, 
and  that  our  curiosity  is  greater  than  our  capacity. 
We  gra:^  at  every  thing,  and  catch  nothing  but  air. 

Plato  introduces  Solon*  telling  a  story  which  he^he  island 
had  heard  from  the  priests  of  Sais,  in  Egypt,  that  in  *'^^"*°^"- 
old  times,  even  before  the  flood,  there  was  a  great 
island  called  Atlantis,  directly  at  the  mouth  of  die 
strait  of  Gibraltar,  which  was  bigger  than  Africa  and 
Asia  both  together ;  and  that  the  kin^  of  this  same 
country,  who  not  only  possessed  this  island,  but  had 
stretched  themselves  so  fer  into  the  continent,  that 
it  extended  the  breadth  of  Africa  as  far  as  Egypt, 
and  the  length  of  Europe  as  far  as  Tuscany,  at- 
tempted to  encroach  even  upon  Asia,  and  to  subdue 
all  tne  nations  bordering  on  the  Mediterranean  Sea, 
to  the  gulf  of  the  Black  Sea,  and  for  this  purpose 
traversed  Spain,  Gaul,  and  Italy,  even  to  Greece, 
where  t^ey  were  checked  by  the  Athenians :  but  that 
isome  time  after,  both  the  Athenians  and  they,  with 
their  island,  were  swallowed  by  the  delude. 

It  is  very  probable  that  extraordinary  inundations  DeiQg«sdM 
have  made  great  changes  in  the  earth,  as  it  is  said  *^^  ^^^ 
that  Sicily  was  rent  by  the  sea  from  the  main  land  of  ratioot  \u 

fH^BC  loca  vi  quondam,  et  vast&  commlsa  rmna, 

Dissiluissefemni:  cumprotinus  utraque  telbis 
Unaforet.f 

*  In  the  Dialogue,  entitled  Timsus,  p.  524>»  625* 
t  Virg,  JEn.  Kb.  iii.  vex.  414»  416,  417- 
R2 


/V^r./ 


244  OF  CANNIBALS. 

Tis  said  that  bv  an  earthquake  or  a  flood. 
Too  great  and  boisterous  to  be  withstood, 
Those  places  were  from  one  another  rent. 
Which  were  before  one  solid  continent.) 

Cyprus  from  Syria ;  the  isle  of  Negropont  from  the 
main  land  of  R^eotia-;  and  in  other  parts  joined  lands 
together  that  before  were  separate,  filling  up  the 
channels  that  were  between  them  with  mud  and  sand: 

— *-  Sterilesve  diH  pahuj  aptaque  remis, 
Ficinas  urbes  alii,  et  grave  sentit  aratrum.* 

Marahes  long  barren,  where  they  boats  did  row. 
Feed  neighb'ring  cities  and  admit  the  plough. 

Cc  L^l^^  ,\  fi"t  i*  is  not  very  probable  that  the  new  world,  lately 
**  ^^  discovered,  was  that  island ;  for  it  almost  touched 
upon  Spain;  and  that  an  inundation  should  have 
forced  such  a  prodigious  tract  so  far  off,  as  above 
1200  leagues  from  it,  is  incredible;  besides  that, 
our  modern  navigators  have  already,  in  a  manner, 
discovered  it  to  be  no  island,  but  Terra  Firma,  and 
joining  to  the  East  Indies  on  one  side,  and  with  the 
lands  under  the  two  poles  on  the  other ;  or  if  it  be 
separated  from  them,  that  it  is  by  too  narrow  a 
streight  and  interval,  to  deserve  the  name  of  an 
island.  It  seems  that  in  those  great  bodies,  as  it  is 
in  ours,  there  are  two  motions,  some  natural,  others 
febrific.  When  I  consider  the  impression  that  has 
been  made  in  my  time,  by  our  river  Dordoigne,  to- 
wards the  right-hand  side  as  it  runs  down,  and  that, 
in  these  twenty  years  past,  it  has  gained  so  much, 
and  sapped  the  foundation  of  many  buildings,  I 
plainly  perceive  it  to  be  owing  to  some  extraordinary 
agitation  ;  for  if  it  had  always  taken  this  course,  or 
was  to  do  so  hereafler,  the  present  figure  of  the 
world  would  be  totally  changed.  But  rivers  are  apt 
to  altet  their  course :  sometimes  they  overflow  on 
one  side,  sometimes  on  the  other,  and  at  other  times 
quietly  keep  their  channels.     I  do  not  speak  of  sud- 


*  Hor.  de  Art.  Poet  ver.  65, 66. 


OF  CAKKIBAL5.  245 

den  inundations,  the  cause  of  which  we  clesirly  know.  ^ 
In  Medoc,  by  the  sea-side,  my  brother,  the  Sieur 
d'Arfac,  sees  an  estate  he  had  there  buried  under 
the  sands  thrown  up  by  the  sea,  where  the  tops  of 
some  houses  atre  yet  to  be  seen ;  his  revenues  and  ^ 
domains  are  converted  into  poor  pastures.  The  in-  / 
habitants  say,  that  for  some  years  past,  the  sea  has 
drove  so  vehemently  upon  their  coast,  that  they  have 
lost  four  leagues  of  land.  These  sands  are  harbingers 
of  its  approach.  And  we  now  see  great  shoals  of 
moving  sands,  that  roll  on  half  a  league  before  it, 
and  make  a  lodgment  on  the  country. 

The  other  testimony  of  antiquity,  which  some  pro^  Ad  humd 
duce  for  this  discovery,  is  in  Aristotle,  at  least  if  w'**"?^^ 
that  little  history  of  miracles  be  his.     He  there  says,  thasiniansl 
that  certain  Carthaginians,  having  crossed  the  At- 
lantic Sea  beyond  Sie  strait  of  Gibraltar,    after  a 
long  navigation,  discovered  a  great  fruitful  island, 
covered  all  over  with  wood,  and  watered  with  broad 
deep  rivers;  far  remote  from  any  main  land;  and 
that  they,  and  others  after  them,  aUured  by  the  good- 
ness and  fertility  of  the  soil,  went  thither  with  their 
wives  and  children,  and  began  to  plant  a  colony. 
But  the  senate  of  Carthage,  perceiving  their  country 
by  degrees  grow  thin  of  people,  issued  out  an  express 
prohibition,  that  no  more  should  transport  themselves 
thither,  upon  pain  of  death,  and  also  expelled  the 
new  inhabitants,  for  fear,  as  it  is  said,  lest,  in  pro- 
cess of  time,  they  should  multiply  to  such  a  degree, 
as  to  supplant  themselves,  and  ruin  their  state.    But  | 
this  relation  of  Aristotle's  no  more  agrees  with  our  r 
new-found  country  than  the  other.  ^ 

This  domestic  of  mine  is  a  plain  honest  fellow,  and  The  qnaii- 
therefore  the  more  likely  to  tell  truth.     Your  men  of  |if^  .[^^'- 
fine  parts,  indeed,  are  much  more  curious  in  their  hutonao. 
observations,  and  discover  more  particulars,  but  then 
they  make  comments  upon  them,  and  to  give  the 
better  air  to  their  glosses,  and  to  gain  them  credit, 
they  cannot  help  making  a  little  alteration  in  the 
story.    They  never  represent  things  to  you  simply 


346  OF  CANNIBALS* 

as  they  are,  but  turn  aad  wind  them  accordxiig  to 
the  Kght  they  appeared  in  to  themselves ;  and  in     i 
order  to  gain  a  reputation  to  their  judgment,  and  to     i 
draw  you  in  to  trust  it,  they  ai  e  apt  to  lengthen  and     i 
amplify  the  subject  with  something  of  their  own  in-     ^ 
vention.     Either  a  man  must  be  of  undoubted  venu 
city,  or  so  simple  that  he  has  not  wherewithal  to  com 
trive  to  give  an  air  of  truth  to  fiction,  and  who  is 
wedded  to  no  opinion.     Such  a  one  was  my  man ; 
aaad  besides,  he  has  divers  times  showed  me  several 
sailors  and  merchants,  who  went  the  same  voyage 
with  him.     Therefiwe  I  content  myself  with  his  in- 
formation, without  inquiring  what  the  cosmographers 
9lty  of  it. 
i4nce  to      We  would  have  topographers  .to  give  us  a  parti- 
write"o**  ^^^  account  of  the  places  where  they  were.     But 
more  on  a  bccause  thcv  bavc  had  this  advantage  over  us,  of 
SSlT^'hat  seeing  the  Holy  X^and,  they  would  have  the  privi^ 
i^y  kiiow]^e,  forsooth,  of  telling  us  stories  of  all  the  other 
*  *^       parts  of  the  world.     I  would  have  every  one  write 
what  he  knows,  and  as  niuch  as  he  knows  of  it,  not 
oidy  on  this,  \Mt  on  all  other  subjects.    For  a  mail 
may  have  some  particular  knowledge  or  experience 
0f^  nature  of  such  a  river,  or  such  a  spring,  who, 
as  to  other  things,  knows  no  more  than  any  oth^ 
person ;   and,  nevertheless,  fcur  the  sake  of  propa- 
gating this  smattering  knowledge  of  his,  he  will  un-? 
diertake  to  write  a  whole  history  of  natural  phikK 
sophy.     A  vice  which  is  the  source  of  several  great 
inconveniences. 
BarbariMD,     To  rctum  to  my  subject :  I  do  not  &id,  by  what  I 
uk«i  for.  ^^  ^^^^9  ^^^^  there  is  any  thing  wild  and  barbarous 
in  this  nation,  excepting  that  every  one  gives  the 
deoomination  of  barbarism  to  what  is  not  the  custom 
of  his  country.     As  indeed  we  have  no'  other  levdi 
for  aiming  at  truth  and  reason,  but  the  ex^unple  and 
«dea  of  the  opinions  and  customs  of  the  countiy 
wherein  we  live.     There  is  always  the  true  religion, 
there  is  perfect  government,  and  there  the  use  of  all 
things  m  compkte  and  perfect    There  the  pec^pte 


OF  CANNIBALS*  347 

are  wild^  just  as  we  call  fruits  wild  which  nature 
produces  of  itself,  and  in  its  ordinary  progress; 
whereas  in  truth  we  ought  rather  to  call  those  wild 
whose  natures  we  have  changed  by  our  artifice^  and 
diverted  from  the  common  (xrder:  in  the  former^ 
their  genuine  and  moit  useful  and  natural  virtues  and 
properties  are  vigorous  and  sprightly,  but  the  latter 
are  degenerated  by  our  accommodating  them  to  th^ 
pleasure  of  our  corrupted  taste.  And  yet  our  palates 
ever  find  a  flavour  and  delicacy,  excellent  even  to 
emulation  of  the  best  of  ours,  in  several  fruits  of 
iliose  countries  that  grow  without  cultivation* 

It  is  not  reasons^ble  that  art  should  gain  the  pre-  Nataro  nk 
eminence  of  our  great  and  powerful  mother,  Nature.  J^*'  *^ 
We  have  so  surcharged  the  beauty  and  richness  of 
her  works  by  our  own  inventions,  that  we  have  al* 
most  smothered  her.  Yet  wherever  she  shines  in 
her  own  pure  lustre,  she  wonderfully  disgraces  our 
vain  and  frivolous  attempts; 

Et  ventunt  hederce  sponte  sua  meliusy 
Surgit  et  in  solis  formoswr  arbutus  antris^ 

■  '         ■  .nil  I        I  r    »       ■  I      > 

Ei  tkJucrei  nulla  dutcius  arte  oanunt.* 
Best  thrives  the  ivy  when  no  cultute  spdb } 
Tlie  strawb'rry  most  delight;  in  shaded  soib  y 
Birds  in  wild  notes  their  throats  Iiannonious  stretch 
Witli  greater  art  than  art  itself  can  teach. 

With  all  our  skill,  we  are  not  able  to  frame  such  a 
nest  as  that  of  the  least  of  the  small  birds,  neither 
for  its  contexture^  beauty,  or  convenience ;  nor  can 
we  weave  such  a  web  as  the  poor  spider  does.  All 
things,  says  Plato,t  are  produced  eithw  by  nature, 
chance,  or  art.  The  largest  and  the  most  beautifiil 
by  one  or  oilier  of  die  two  iSrst,  the  least  and  most 
imperfect  by  the  last 

These  nations  then  seem  to  me  to  be  so  fer  barba- J^;"J^^ 


reus,  as  very  little  care  has  been  taken  to  form  their  Americaii 
minds,  and  as  their  native  simplicity  is  stUl  ^^»-SI2Sw 

t  Propert.  lib,  I  eleg^  u.  ter.  10, 1 1  ^  1&     t  Mato  de  Legibw,  665, 


it4B  OF  CANNIBALS. 

proved.  They  are  still  governed  by  the  laws  of  na- 
ture, as  yet  very  little  adulterated  by  ours,  but  re- 
maining in  such  purity,  that  I  am  sometimes  sorry 
we  were  not  acquainted  with  the  people  sooner, 
when  there  were  men  better  able  to  judge  of  them 
than  we  are.  I  am  vexed  that  Lycurgus  and  Plato 
had  no  knowledge  of  them :  for,  in  my  opinion, 
what  we  see  in  those  nations  by  experience,  not  only 
surpasses  all  the  pictures  which  the  poets  have  drawn 
of  the  Golden  Age,  and  all  their  inventions  in  repre- 
senting the  then  happy  state  of  mankind,  but  also 
the  conception  and  desire  of  philosophy  itself.  Such 
a  native  and  pure  simplicity  as  we  see  in  them,  could 
never  enter  into  their  imagination,  nor  could  they 
ever  believe  that  society  could  be  maintained  with  so 
little  human  artifice  and  cement. 
The  excel.  Should  I  Say  to  Plato,  it  is  a  nation  wherein  there 
the??  ^^  is  no  sort  of  traffic,  no  knowledge  of  letters,  no  sci- 
policy,  ence  of  numbers,  no  title  of  magistracy,  nor  of  po- 
litical superiority ;  no  use  of  service,  riches,  or  po- 
verty; no  contracts,  no  successions,  no  dividends, 
no  occupations,  no  respect  of  kindred,  but  all  com- 
mon;  no  clothes,  no  agriculture,  no  metal,  no  use 
of  wine  or  corn  j  and  that  they  never  heard  the  men- 
tion of  such  words  as  signify  lying,  treason,  dissi- 
mulation, avarice,  envy,  detraction,  and  pardon,  how 
far  would  he  find  his  imaginary  republic  short  of  this 
perfection  ? 

Hos  naiura  modos  primum  dedit.^ 
These  different  ways  were  first  by  nature  taught. 

The  nature     For  the  rcst,  they  live  in  a  very  pleasant  country, 
dii!»u;'     and  temperate  climate,  so  that,  as  my  authors  tell 
*°*  ■     me,  it  is  rare  to  see  a  man  sick  there,  and  they  as- 
sured me  they  never  saw  any  of  the  natives  either 
paralytic,  blear-eyed,  toothless,  or  decrepid  with  age. 
The  situation  of  their  country  is  all  along  by  the  sea- 
V .  shore,  being  shut  up  on  the  land-side  by  great  high 


*  Vin  Georg.  lib.  ii.  yer.  20, 


OF  CANNIBALS.  249 

mountains,  from  which  it  is  a  hundred  leagued,  or 
thereabouts,  to  the  sea.  Here  are  fish  and  flesh  in 
abundance,  that  have  no  resemblance  with  what 
comes  to  our  tables ;  and  they  use  no  cookery  but 
plain  boiling,  broiling,  roasting,  or  baking  on  the 
coals.  The  first  man  that  ever  came  to  them  on 
horse-back,  though  he  had  made  an  acquaintance 
with  them  by  several  voyages,  so  frightened  them  by 
his  appearance  of  half  man  and  half  horse,  that  they 
killed  him  with  their  arrows  before  they  could  find  / 
their  mistake. 

Their  buildings,  which  are  very  long,  and  capable  Th€ir 
of  entertaining  200  or  300  people,  are  made  of  the^"**'"*^ 
bark  of  tall  trees,  fixed  with  one  end  to  the  ground, 
imd  leaning  to,  and  supporting,  one  another  at  the 
top,  like  some  of  .our  barns,  the  roof  of  which  de- 
scends almost  to  the  ground,  and  serves  instead  of 
the  side  walls.  They  have  wood  so  hard,  that  they 
cleave  it  and  make  swords  of  it,  and  grills  to  brou 
their  meat  on. 

Their  beds,  which  are  of  cotton,  are  hung  up  to  Their  bed*. 
the  roof,  like  our  seamen's  hammocks,  and  hold  but 
one  person,  for  the  wives  lie  apart  from  their  hus- 
bands. 

They  rise  with  the  sun,  and  immediately  fall  to  Their 
eating,  when  they  make  one  meal,  which  sei-ves  them  JJ^' 
for  the  whole  day.     They  do  not  then  drink  (as  ^rink,  and 
Suidas  reports  of  some  people  of  the  East,  who  never  {IJI^. 
drank  at  their  meals),  but  they  drink  several  times  in 
a  day,  and  to  a  hearty  pitch.     Their  liquor  is  made 
of  a  certain  root,  and  is  of  the  colour  ol  claret ;  and 
they  always  drink  it  lukewarm.  '  It  will  not  keep 
above  two  or  three  days,  has  a  brisk  savour,  is  not 
at  all  heady,  is  very  good  for  the  stomach,  but  proves 
laxative  to  those  who  are  not  used  to  it,  though  to 
those  who  are  it  is  a  very  pleasant  beverage.     Instead 
of  bread,  they  make  use  of  a  certain  white   com- 
pound, like  coriander  comfits,  which  I  have  tasted, 
^nd  found  to  be  sweet,  but  a  little  flat. 

They  spend  the  whole  day  in  dancing.  •  The  young  J^  p^ 


SfiO  OF  CANNIBALS. 

men  go  out  to  hunt  the  wild  beasts  with  bows  and 

arrows.     Part  of  their  women,  in  the  mean  time^ 

are  employed  in  wanning  their  drink,  which  is  their 

chief  employment     One  of  their  old  men  in  the 

morning,  before  they  fall  to  eating,  preaches  to  the 

whole  houshold,  in  common,  walking  from  one  end 

of  the  house  to  the  other,  several  times  repeating 

the  same  sentences,  till  he  has  gone  all  round  theia* 

mily  (for  their  buildings  are  at  least  a  hundred  yards 

long),  to  whom  he  only  recommends  two  things,  va* 

lour  against  their  enemies,  and  love  to  their  wives. 

And  they  never  fail  to  put  them  in  mind  how  much 

they  are  the  more  obliged  to  it,  because  it  is  the 

women  who  provide  them  their  drink  warm,  and  well 

relished.    In  several  places,  and  at  my  house  amongst 

others,  may  be  seen  the  form  of  their  beds,  swords, 

and  wooden  gauntlets,  with  which  they  guard  their 

wrists  in  battle,  and  their  canes,  hoUow  at  one  end, 

by  the  sound  of  which  they  keep  time  in  their  danc% 

ing.     They  shave  all  theu*  hairy  parts,  and  much 

more  nicely  than  we,  without  any  razor  but  what  is 

of  wood  or  stonci 

They  be.       They  believe  the  eternity  of  the  soul's  duration, 

Immo^Vi.  and  that  those  who  have  deserved  well  of  the  gods, 

ty  of  the    ^Q  lodged  in  that  part  of  the  firmament  where  the 

*"'''        sun  rises,  and  the  damned  in  the  west 

Their  They  have  I  know  not  what  kind  of  priests  and 

JJ.Jj^'pJJ^*' prophets,  who  live  in  the  mountains,  and  are  seldom 

their  mo-  sccn  bv  the  people.    Whenever  they  come  down  to 

how^they  ^  thcm  thcrc  is  a  gre^  festival  and  a  solemn  assembly 

«retreated,of  the  pcoplcfrom  many  villages  (or  barns,  as  I  have 

phelic/*'**' described  them,  which  are  about  a  French  league 

proTefaiae.from  ouc  another).     The  prophet  theq  speaks  to 

them  in  public,  exhorting  them  to  virtue  and  the 

performance  of. their  duty;  but  their  whole  system 

of  morality  consists  in  these  two  articles,  resolution 

in  war,  and  affection  to  their  wives.     He  also  fore* 

tells  to  them  things  to  come,  and  what  they  must 

pxpect  will  be  the  event  of  their  enterprises,  and  he 

either  persuades  them  to,  or  4issuades  theoi  frpm^ 


OF  CANNIBALS;  QSl 

war ;  but  woe  be  to  him  if  he  does  not  guess  right, 
fi>r  if  it  happens  to  them  otherwise  than  he  foretold, 
they  condemn  him  for  a  &ise  prophet :  and  if  they 
can  catch  him,  cut  him  in  a  thousand  pieces.  For 
this  reason,  if  any  one  finds  himself  mistaken,  he 
keeps  out  of  sight.  Divination  is  a  gift  of  God, 
therefi>re  to  abuse  it  is  an  imposture  that  ought  to  be 
punished. 

Among  the  Scythians,  when  their  diviners  &iled  FaUe  pro. 
in  their  predictions,  they  were  bound  hand  and  foot,  J*'*^'*^ 
and  laid  on  a  cart  loaden  with  furze,  and  drawn  by  scyUiian. 
oxen,  on  which  they  were  burnt  to  death;*  they 
who  only  meddle  with  things  within  the  sphere  of 
human  capacity,  are  excusable  in  doing  the  best  they 
can ;  but  as  for  those  other  people  that  come  and 
delude  us  with  assurances  of  an  extraordinary  faculty 
beyond  our  understanding,  ought  they  not  to  be 
punished  for  not  making  good  their  promise,  and  for 
the  temerity  of  their  imposture  ? 

They  have  wars  with  the  nations  that  are  beyond  Thewmnof 
their  mountauis,  farther  within  the  main  land,  to^jj^^^^,,^ 
which  they  go  stark  naked,  without  any  weapons  but  weapom 
bows  or  wooden  swords,  pointed  at  the  end  like  thej|^^^ 
beads  of  our  javelins.     Their  obstinacy  in  battle  isigbUoK. 
wonderful,  as  they  nev^  end  without  great  efiu^on 
of  blood,  for  they  know  not  what  it  is  to  be  fright- 
ened and  to  run  away.     Every  one  brings  home  for 
a  trophy  the  head  of  some  enemy  that  he  has  killed, 
which  he  sets  up  over  the  door  of  his  house. 

After  having  treated  their  prisoners  a  good  while  Tbeyo^ 
in  the  handsomest  manner  they  can  think  of,  thel^^'^^"^ 
person  who  has  the  property  of  them  invites  a  great  why. ' 
number  of  his  acquaintance,  and,  when  they  are 
pcnne,  ties  a  cord  to  one  of  the  prisoner's  arms,  by 
one  end  of  which  he  holds  him  some  paces  distance, 
that  h^  may  not  hurt  him,  ax)d  gives  to  the  friend  he 
Joves  best,  the  other  arm  to  held  in  the  same  pan* 

*  HerodaC  lib.  iv.  p^  879. 


852  OF  CAKNIBALS. 

ner,  and  then  they  two,  in  the  presence  of  the 
whole  assembly,  run  him  through  the  body  with 
their  swords.  This  done,  they  roast  him  and  eat 
him  in  common,  and  send  some  slices  of  him  to  their 
absent  friends.  They  do  not  do  this,  as  it  is  ima- 
gined, for  the  sake  of  nourishment,  as  the  Scythians 
did  of  old,  but  to  denote  the  last  degree  of  revenge ; 
as  will  appear  by  this,  that  perceiving,  that  when  the 
Portuguese  had  taken  any  prisoners,  they  inflicted 
another  sort  of  death  upon  them,  which  was  to  set 
them  in  the  earth  up  to  the  waist,  to  let  fly  their 
arrows  at  the  upper  part,  and  then  to  hang  them ; 
they  were  of  opinion  that  these  people  of  the  other 
world  (as  they  had  made  their  neighbours  ac- 
quainted with  a  great  many  vices,  and  far  outstripped 
them  in  all  sorts  of  mischief)  had  a  reason  for  taking 
this  sort  of  revenge,  and  that  it  must  be  more  severe 
than  theirs,  and  so  began  to  leave  their  old  way,  and 
to  follow  this.  I  am  not  sorry  that  we  should  here 
take  notice  of  the  barbarous  cruelty  of  such  an 
action ;  but  rather  that,  while  we  judge  so  nicely  of 
their  faults,  we  are  so  blind  to  our  own.  I  think 
there  is  more  barbarity  in  eating  a  man  aUve  than 
when  he  is  dead ;  in  tearing  a  body  limb  from  limb, 
by  racks  and  torments,  while  it  has  the  sense  of  feeU 
ing,  in  roasting  it  by  degrees,  in  causing  it  to  be  bit 
and  worried  by  dogs  and  swine  (as  we  have  not  only 
read,  but  lately  seen,  not  between  veteran  enemies, 
but  between  neighbours  and  fellow^citizens,  and 
what  is  worse,  under  pretence  of  piety  and  religion), 
than  in  the  roasting  and  eating  it  after  it  is  dead. 
Chrysippus*  and  Zeno,  the  two  heads  of  the  stoical 
sect,  were  of  opinion  that  there  was  no  hurt  in 
making  use  of  our  dead  bodies  to  any  purpose  what* 
soever,  to  serve  our  occasions,  and  even  for  our 
nourishment,  as  our  ancestors,  when  besieged  by 
Caasar  in  the  city  Alexia,  resolved  to  keep  themselves 

*  Diog.  Laert.  in  the  Life  of  Chrysippus,  l]b.Tu.  secU  188, 


OP  CANNIBALS^  25$ 

from  being  starved  to  death  by  the  bodied  of  their 
old  men,  women  and  other  persons,  incapable  of 
bearing  arms  : 

Vasctmes^  fama  est^  alimentis  ialilnis  usi 
Produxere  animas.* 

'Tis  said  the  Gascons  with  such  meats  as  these. 
In  time  of  siege  their  hunger  did  appease. 

And  the  physicians  scruple  not  to  make  use  of 
human  flesh  every  way,  either  inwardly  or  outwardly, 
&r  our  health.  But  the  savages  here  treated  of, 
never  maintained  any  opinion  so  enormous  as  to  ex- 
cuse treason,  disloyalty,  tyranny,  and  cruelty,  which 
are  our  familiar  vices :  we  may  therefore  style  them 
barbarous  with  an  eye  to  the  laws  of  reason,  but  not 
in  respect  to  ourselves,  who  exceed  them  in  all,  kinds 
of  barbarity. 

Their  warfare  is  quite  noble  and  generous,  and  isTheai.' 
as    excusable     and    commendable  as   that    human  ^JScti^ 
malady  is  capable  of  being,  it  having  no  foundation  "»''«  «' 
with  them  but  the  sole  jealousy  of  virtue.     They  doyer^  uobie 


not  contend  for  the  conquest  of  new  lands,  for  those ' 
they  possess  still  enjoy  that  natural  fertility  which 
furnishes  them,  without  labour  and  toil,  with  such  an 
abundance  of  all  necessaries,  that  they  have  no  need 
to  enlarge  their  borders. 

They  are  also   happy  in  this  circumstance,  that  Their  mo- 
they  desire  no  more  tnan  what  the  necessities  of  ***™*^®"' 
nature  demand,  every  thing  beyond  that  being  to 
them  superfluous. 

Men  of  the  same  age  generally  call  one  another  ivir  cor- 
brothers;  those  who  are  younger,  children;  and  the ^jj^j[j[_  *• 
old  men  are  fathers  to  all.      These  leave  to  their  other, 
heirs,  in  common,  the  full  possession  of  their  goods 
and  chattels,  without  any  division,  or  any  other  title 
than  what  nature  bestows    upon  her  creatures  at 
bringing  thein  into  the  world. 

*  Jut.  sat.  xv.  ver.  93}  94. 


J 


254  e^  CAmn^AiM. 

All  thdt  If  their  neighbours  come  over  the  mountaifis  to 
t^Y\^ioi^  attack  theiiH  and  obtain  a  victory  over  them,  all  that 
over  tbeir  the  conqucrors  gain  by  it  is  glory,  and  the  advantage 
J^  of  proving  their  superiority  m  valour ;  for  they  take 
no  spoils  from  the  vanquished,  but  return  home  to 
their  owrt  country,  where  they  have  no  want  of  any 
necessaries,  nor  of  that  happy  knowledge  how  to 
live  contentedly  in  their  condition.  And  these  in 
their  turn  do  the  same.  They  demand  no  other 
ransom  of  the  prisoners  they  take,  than  the  confes- 
sion and  acknowledgment  of  being  vanquished. 
But  there  is  not  a  man  of  them  to  be  found  in  a 
whole  century,  who  had  not  rather  perish,  than 
abate  an  ace  of  the  grandeur  of  his  invincible 
courage,  either  by  a  look  or  word.  There  is  not  one 
who  had  not  rather  be  killed  and  eaten,  than  so 
much  as  open  his  mouth  to  desire  he  miEiy  not  be  so 
treated.  They  indulge  them  with  full  liberty,  that 
their  lives  may  be  so  much  the  dearer  to  them ;  yet 
commonly  accost  them  with  menaces  of  their  ap- 
proaching death,  of  the  torments  which  they  are  to 
suffer,  or  the  preparations  making  for  that  purpose, 
of  the  mutilation  of  their  members,  and  of  the  feast 
that  is  to  be  made  on  their  carcasses.  And  all  this 
they  do  for  no  other  purpose,  but  to  extort  some 
pentle  or  submissive  word  from  them,  or  to  put  it 
mto  their  heads  to  make  their  escape,  fqr  the  sake  of 
gaining  the  advantage  of  having  terrified  them,  and 
shaken  their  constancy :  and,  indeed,  if  the  thing  be 
rightly  considered,  it  is  in  this  point  only  that  true 
victory  consists: 


'Victoria  nulla  est. 


Quam  quad  confessos  animo  quoqne  subjugtU  hostes.^ 

No  victory's  to  true  and  so  complete. 

As  when  the  vanquish'd  own  their  just  defeat. 

That  warlilje  nation,  the  Hungarians,  did  not  pur- 
*  Claudian  de  SexteConsuIatu  Honorii  Pdnegyris,  ver.  248,  249. 


OF  CANNIBALS.  2SS 

sxLe  their  point  formerly  beyond  reducing  the  enemy 
to  beg  quarters  :  for  after  they  had  forced  them  to 
this  submission,  they  let  them  go  without  injury,  or 
ransom,  or  any  greater  demand  upon  them,  than 
their  promise  not  to  bear  arms  against  them  for  the 
future.  We  have  several  advantages  over  our  ene- 
mies that  are  borrowed,  and  not  our  own.  To  have 
stronger  arms  and  legs  than  another  man,  is  a  quali- 
fication for  a  porter,  but  not  for  a  man  of  true  vdour* 
The  disposition  of  soldiers  in  battle  array,  is  a  life- 
less corporeal  quality;  if  our  enemy  stumble,  or  hi$ 
eyes  are  dazzled  with  the  light  of  the  sun,  it  is  owing 
to  fortune ;  and  to  be  a  good  fencer  is  a  qualification 
of  art  and  science,  that  may  be  attained  by  a  coward 
And  a  poltroon. 

The  estimation  and  value  of  a  man  consists  in  the  wbst  <»■. 
hearty  and  the  will,  and  therein  lies  his  trae  honour  j  J[iJ^^^*)SJ 
valour  is  the  stability,  not  of  legs  and  arms,  but  ofof «  nu, 
courage  and  the  mind.     It  does  not  consist  in  the  perioHtr 
goodness  of  our  horse,  or  our  armour,  but  in  our*  oyer  bii 
aelves.     The  man  who  falls  obstinately  courageous,  c^toi». 
Si  succiderit  de  genu  pugnat  ;*  jfJus  Jegs  fail  him, 
.jwlLJght  upon  his  knees.     He  who  does  not  flincKT" 
be  he  in  ever  such  imminent  danger  of  death,  and 
who,  when  giving  up  the  ghost,  looks  his  enemy  in 
the  &ce  with  a  stem  and  £sdainful  countenance,  is 
conquered  not  by  us  but    by  fortune;   maya^  he.is„^ 
J^lgd^notconquered^  the  most  vaUant  being  some- 
tim^me  mosTufifortunate. 

There  are  actually  some  defeats  which  may  com-  Defeatt 

gire  even  with  victories  for  triumph.    As  for  those  JJ^^*^ 
ur  sister  victories,  the  most  signal  which  the  sun  ruoriow 
ever  beheld,  viz.  those  of  Salamis,  Platea,  Mycale,  j^t"^* 
and  Sicily,  they  durst  not  set  all  their  glory  united  in  ▼ictori«. 
opposition  to  that  of  the  defeat  of  king  Leonidas, 
and  his  army,  at  the  pass  of  Thermopylae.     Who 
ever  ran  with  a  more  glorious  emulation  or  ambition 
to  the  winning,  than  the  captain  Ischolas  did  to  the 

*  Senec.  de  ProvidentiK. 


2S6  OF  CANNIBALS* 

losing,  of  a  battle  ?  Who  ever  found  out  a  more  in* 
genious  and  curious  stratagem  for  his  self-preserva- 
tion, than  he  did  for  his  own  destruction  ?  He  was 
commissioned  to  defend  a  certain  pass  of  the  Pelo- 
ponnesus against  the  Arcadians ;  but  finding  it  im- 
possible for  him  to  do  it,  upon  observation  of  the  na? 
ture  of  the  place,  and  the  inequality  of  his  forces  to 
that  of  the  enemy,  and  being  sure  that  no  man,  who 
&ced  the  enemy  there,  must  ever  expect  to  return ; 
and  on  the  other  hand  thinking  it  would  be  a  re^ 

f  roach  to  his  valour  and  magnanimity,  and  to  the 
^acedaemonian  name,  to  fail  in  his  commission,  he 
chose  a  medium  between  the  two  extremes,  after  this 
manner.*  The  youngest  and  most  active  of  his 
soldiers,  he  reserved  for  the  defence  and  service  of 
their  country,  and  sent  them  home ;  and  with  the 
rest,  whose  loss  would  not  be  of  so  much  conse- 
quence, he  resolved  to  maintain  this  pass,  and  by  the 
death  of  them,  to  make  the  enemy  pay  as  dear  a 
purchase  as  possible  for  their  entry,  as  it  accordin^y 
fell  out :  for  being  instantly  surrounded  on  all  sides 
by  the  Arcadians,  after  having  made  a  great  slaugh- 
ter of  them,  he  and  his  men  were  all  put  to  the 
sword.  Is  any  trophy  erected  to  the  victors,  which 
is  not  rather  aue  to  the  vanquished  ?  The  true  way 
to  victory  is  by  fighting,  not  by  coming  off;  and  the 
honour  of  valour  consists  in  the  battle,  not  in  the 
defeat. 
The  COD-  To  return  to  my  story ;  these  prisoners  are  so  fer 
thoM^i^  from  being  humbled  by  any  thing  done  to  them, 
^«*J^*^*  that,  on  the  contrary,  during  tfie  two  or  three 
priMwen.  months  that  they  are  kept  under  guard,  they  appear 
with  a  brisk  countenance,  urge  their  keepers  to  make 
haste  to  bring  them  to  the  test ;  defy,  rail  at  them, 
reproach  them  with  cowardice,  and  with  the  number 
of  battles  they  have  lost. 


*  See  Diodorus  of  Sicily,  lib.  xv.  cap.  7,  where  the  action  of 
Jscholas  is  compared  to  that  of  king  Leonidaa,  which  Montaigne 
extols  above  the  most  celebrated  victories. 


OF  CANimrALS*  ft57 

1  have  a  song  iqade  by  one  of  these  prisoners.  The  mar- 
wherein  he  says,  "  They  shall  be  welcome  to  meet^  one'of  *the 
•*  one  and  all,  to  dine  upon  him,  and  thereby  eat  '^^^s^  p"- 
**  their  fathers  and  grandfathers,  whose  flesh  had'^"'"' 
**  served  to  feed  and  nourish  him.    These  muscles,*' 
says  he,  "  this  flesh,  and  these  veins,  they  are  your 
•*  own.     Poor  souls,  as  you  are,  you  little  think  that 
**  the  substance  of  the  limbs  of  your  ancestors  is 
**  here  still.     Do  but  mind  the  taste,  and  you  will  /  . 
**  perceive  the  relish  of  your  own  flesh.*'  This  is  a 
composition  that  has  nothing  of  the  taste  of  bar* 
barism.     They  who  paint  him  dying  after  being  thus 
stabbed,  paint'  the  prisoner  spitting  in  the  faces  of 
his  executioners,  and  making  mouths  at  them  ;  and 
in  truth,  they  never  cease  to  brave  and  defy  them, 
both  by  looks  and  language,  to  the  very  last  gasp. 
It  is  certain  that  these  men  compared  to  us  are  very 
savage,  for  in  good  faith  either  they  must  needs  be 
such,  or  else  we  must,  there  being  a  wonderful  dif- 
ference between  their  manners  and  ours. 

The  men  here  enjoy  a  plurality  of  wives,  and  the  The  wit« 
more  eminent  they  are  for  their  valour,  the  greater  nfbau/^" 
number  they  have. 

There  is  one  very  extraordinary  thing  to  be  ob- The  nature 
served  in  their  married  state,  viz.  that  as  the  jealousy  ?,^,*^y 
of  our  wives  excites  them  to  hinder  us  from  the 
friendship  and  favour  of  other  women,  their  wives 
have  the  same  emulation  to  procure  that  happiness 
for.  their  husbands :  for  being  more  careful  to  pro- 
mote thie  honour  of  their  husbands  than  of  any  one 
thing  besides,  they  seek  out  very  eagerly  for  the 
most  companions  they  can  find  for  the  husband,  it 
being  a  testimony  of  his  valour.  Our  wives  will 
say  this  is  monstrous !  but  it  is  not  so.  It  is  a 
virtue  truly  matrimonial,  though  of  the  highest 
form.  We  find  in  the  Bible,  that  Sarah,  the  wife  of 
Abraham,  and  Jacob's  wives  Leah  and  Rachel,  fur- 
nished their  husbands  with  their  beautiful  maids ; 
Livia  &voured  the  appetites  of  Augustus  to  her  own 

VOL.  X.  S 


SS8  ^F  CANKIBALS^ 

prejudice ;  and  Stratonice,*  the  wife  of  king  D^o- 
tarus,  not  only  accommodated  her  husband  with  the 
enjoyment  of  a  handsome  young  chambermaid  in  her 
service,  but  carefully  brought  up  the  children  he  had 
by  her,  and  heljied  them  to  succeed  to  their  Other's 
dominions.     And  lest  it  should  be  thought  that  all 
this  is  done  merely  from  a  servile  obUgation  to  their 
customs,  and  by  the  impression  of  the  authority  of 
their  ancient  practice,  without  reason  or  judgment, 
and  for  want  of  sense  to  take  another  course,  it  is 
necessary  in  this  place  to  give  some  touches  of  their 
capacity. 
Lore  songs     ticsidcs  what  I  just  uow  repeated  from  one  of  their 
ric"  tiT*"  military  songs,  I  have  another,  a  love-song  of  theirs, 
««e.        which  begins  in  this  manner,  viz.    ^  Stay,  adder^ 
**  stay,  that  by  thy  likeness  my  sister  may  draw  the 
**  fasnion   and  work  of  a   rich    ribbon  for  me  to 
**  make  a  present  of  to  my  sweet-heart,  by  which 
**  means  thy  beauty  and  thy  disposition  may  at  aU 
**  times  give  thee  the  preference  before  all  other  ser- 
"  pents."      Wherein  the  first  couplet.  Stay,  adder, 
&c.  makes  the  burden  of  the  song.     Now  1  am  c<m- 
versant  enough  with  poetry  to  judge  thus  much, 
that  not  only  there  is  nothing  barbarous  in  this 
thought,  but  that  it  is  perfectly  Anacreontic. 
Tfc«ia^       Their  language  moreover  is  soft,  and  of  a  pleasing 
SHrSTvago.  accent,  resembUngthe  terminations  of  the  Greek. 
What  some     Thrcc  of  thcsc  pcoplc  forcsccing  how  dear  the 
v^  ^nmho  ^"^wledge  of  the  corruption  of  this  part  of  the 
^e'to  ^  world  would  one  day  cost  their  happiness  and  repose, 
Sr^Vof  ^^^  ^^**'  ^^^  correspondence  would  in  the  end  prove 
their  ruin,  as  I  suppose  it  to  be^ready  in  a  fairway 
of  doing  so  (wretched  men  I  to  sufier  themselves  to 

*  See  Platarch  in  his  Treatise  of  the  Virtuous  Deeds  of  Woolen^ 
in  the  Article  £r^«rwMs.  The  last  English  translation  by  Mr. 
Cotton,  is  guilty  of  a  small  blunder  here,  by  niakine  the  name 
Stratonice,  for  that  of  a  country.  Galatia,  says  Plutardi,  also  pro- 
duced Stratonice  the  wife  of  Deiotarus,  &c.  Tome  xxxi.  p.  259^ 
the  Paris  edition  in  1624>. 


OF  CANNIBALS.  259 

be  deluded  with  the  desire  of  novelty,  and  to  leave 
their  own  serene  sky,  to  come  and  gaze  at  ouis),  were 
at  Roan  when  the  late  king  Charles  IX.  was  there. 
The  monarch  himself  talked  to  them  a  good  while^ 
and  they  were  made  to  see  our  fashions,  our  pomp, 
and  the  form  of  a  fine  city  ;  after  which  somebody 
asked  their  opinion,  and  wanted  to  know  of  them 
what  things  they  most  admired  of  all  they  had  seen  ? 
To  which  they  made  answer,  three  things,  of  which 
I  am  sorry  I  have  forgot  the  third,  but  two  I  yet  re- 
member.    They  said,  in  the  first  place,  they  thought 
it  very  strange  that  so  many  tall  men,  wearing  great 
beards,  strong  and  well  armed,  about  the  king's  per- 
son    (by  w^hom,    it  is  like,   they   meant  his  Swiss 
guards),  should  submit  to  obey  a  child,  and  that  they 
did  not  rather  choose  out  one  among  themselves  tQ 
command.     Secondly,  that  they  had  taken  notice  of 
men  amongst  us  who  were  fat,  and  crammed  with  all 
manner  of  good  things,  whilst  their  halves*  were 
begging  at  the  gates,   lean   and  half-starved  with 
hunger  and  poverty ;  and  they  wondered  how  these 
necessitous  halves  could  put  up  with  such  unjust  treat- 
ment, and  not  take  the  others  by  the  throat,  or  set 
fire  to  their  houses. 

I  talked  with  one  of  them  a  good  while,  but  I  had  amww  ot 
so  sorry  an  interpreter,  who  was  so  perplexed  by  hisuva^  tt 
stupidity  to  apprehend  my  meaning,  that  I  could  Montaigne, 
get  nothing  of  any  moment  out  of  him.     Asking  of 
what  advantage  his  superiority  over  the  people  was 
to  him    (for  he  was  a  captain,  and  our  mariners 
styled  him  king),  he  told  me  "  to  march  at  the  head 
*'  of  them  to  war :"  and  demanding  further  of  him    . 
how  many  men  he  had  to  follow  him  ?    he  showed 
me  a  space  of  ground,  to  signify  as  many  as  could 
stand  in  such  a  compass,  which  might  be  four  or 
five  thousand  men  :  then   putting  the  question  to 
Jiim,  whether  or  no  his  authority  expired  with  the 

*  It  is  an  idiom  in  their  language  to  call  men  the  half  of  one  an- 
other. 

S2 


2€0  XtTDGTE  ffOBERlT 

war  ?  he  told  me,  "  this  part  of  it  remained ;  that 
•*  when  he  went  to  visit  the  villages  of  his  depend- 
**  ence,  they  made  paths  for  him  through  their  thick- 
'  •*  est  woods,  so  that  he  could  pass  from  one  place 

**  to  another  with  ease/*     Upon  the  whole,  this  was 


not  a  bad  thing.     If  you  ask  why  ?  I  answer,  be-  -^ 
cause  they  wear  no  breeches^  ^   .    .  .  >J 


CHAPTER  XXXL 

That  a  Man  must  not  be  too  hasty  in  judging  of 
Divine  Ordinances. 

The  sab-  X  HIN6S  unknowii  are  the  true  field  and  sulgect 
•J^*JJ^"^of  impoffture^  forasmuch  as  in  the  fost  place  ticir 
very  strangeness  ^ves  them  credit,  and  moreover, 
by  not  being  subjected  to  our  orcUnary  discourse^ 
they  deprive  us  of  the  means  to  dispute  them.  For 
which  reason,  says  Plato,  it  is  much  more  easy  to 
satisfy  the  hearers,  when  speaking  of  the  nature  of 
the  gods,  than  €i  the  nature  of  men,  because  the  ig- 
norance of  the  auditory  affords  a  fair  and  large  career, 
and  all  maimer  of  libc^y,  in  the  handling  of  abstruse 
thinffs ;  thence  it  comes  to  pass,  that  nothing  is  so 
firmhr  believed  as  what  we  least  know:  nor  any 
people  so  confident  as  those  who  entertain,  us  wiw 
rabies,  such  as  alchymists,  judicial  astrologers,  for- 
tune-tellei^,  phy^cians,  and  Id  genus  omnc;  to 
whom  I  could  willingly,  if  I  durst,  join  a  daas  of 
people,  who  take  iu>oa  them  to  interpret  and  cri^ 
ticise  tJie  designs*  of  God  himself,  pretending  to  find 
out  the  cause  of  every  acqident,  and  to  pry  into  the 
secrets  of  the  divine  will,  and  the  incompi^ehen^ble 
motives  of  his  works**    And  altiiough  the  vari^y, 

*  People  who  Dretend  to  give  the  most  precise  determination  of 
the  designs  of  God,  the  duration,  effictfcy^  and  extent  of  his  fii- 
▼oursy  &c* 


OF  DITIKE  ORDINilNCES.  S61 

and  the  continual  dit^cMrdance,  of  events,  throw  them 
from  comer  to  comer,  and  from  east  to  west,  yet  -do 
they  still  {Persist  in  their  vain  inquisition,  and  with 
the  same  pencil  paint  black  and  white.  In  a  nation 
of  the  Indies,  there  is  this  commendable,  custom, 
that  when  any  thing  be&Us  them  amiss  in  any  ren* 
counter  or  battle,  they  publicly  ask  pardon  of  the 
sun,  who  is  their  God,  as  if  they  had  committed  an 
unjust  action,  alwa3rs  imputing  their  good  or  evil  for- 
tune to  the  divine  justice,  and  to  that  submitting 
their  own  judgment  and  reason. 

It  is  enough  for  a  Christian  to  believe  that  allNoavtho. 
things  come  from  God,  to  receive  them  with  acknow-  ^^^^  ^ 
ledgmentof  his  divine  and  unsearchable  wisdom,  andtbe  cbrif. 
also  to  accept  them  in  good  part,  with  what  face  so-*\^SjJi 
ever  they  may  present  themselves ;  but  I  do  not  ap-c^entii- 
prove  of  what  1  see  in  use,  that  is,  to  seek  to  esta^ 
blish  and  support  our  religion  by  the  prosperity  of 
our  enterprises.    Our  belief  has  other  foundations 
enough,  without  authorising  it  by  events ;  for  peo*  ' 

pie  accustomed  to  such  plausible  arguments  as  these, 
and  so  peculiar  to  their  own  taste,  it  is  to  be  feared, 
lest  when  they  fail  of  success,  they  should  also  stag* 
ger  in  their  mth :  as  in  the  war  wherein  we  are  now 
engaged  upon  account  of  religion,  those  who  had 
the  better  m  the  affeir  of  Rochelabeille,*  rejoicing 
at  that  success,  and  boasting  it  as.an  in&Uible  i^ppro* 
bationof  their  cause,  when  they  came  aflerwanis  to 
excuse  their  misfortunes  at  Jaraac  and  Monoontour,t 
it  was  by  saying  they  were  fatherly  scourges  and 
corrections ;  if  they  Imve  not  a  people  wholly  at  their  ^ 
mercy,  they  make  it  obvious  enough  to  them,  that  i^ 
is  to  take  two  sorts  of  grist  out  of  the  same  sack,  > 
and  with  the  same  mouth  to  blew  hot  and  cold.    It 

*  A  great  skirmkh  that  had  like  to  have  caused  a  general  battle 
between  the  troops  of  the  admiral  de  Coligny  and  those  of  the  duke 
of  Anjou,  in  May,  1569. 

f  These  battles  were  ivon  .by  the  4uk^  oi  Anjou,  \he  Sjrst  in 
March,  and  the  last  in  October,  l$69f 


262  JUDGE  SOBERLY  OF  DIVINE  ORDINANCES. 

were  better  to  support  a  cause  with  the  real  founda- 
tions of  truth, 
A  naval         It  was  a  bfavc  naval  battle  that  was  gained,  a  few 
JailTeldover  Hiouths  siucc,  against  the  Turks,*  under  the  com- 
the  Turks,  maud  of  Don  John  of  Austria ;  but  it  has  also  pleased 
God  at  other  times,  to  let  us  see  as  great  victories  at 
our  own  expense.     In  fine,  it  is  a  hard  matter  to 
reduce  divine  things  to  our  balance,  without  losing 
a  great  deal  of  the  weight.     And  he  that  would  take 
upon  him  to  give  a  reason,  why  Arius,  and  his  Pope 
Leo,  the  principal  heads  of  the  Arian  heresy,  shoidd 
die  at  different  times,  in  a  way  so  much  alike  and  so 
strange  (for  being  withdrawn  from  the  disputation, 
by  the  griping  in  the  guts,  they  both  of  them  sud- 
denly gave  up  the  ghost  upon  the  stool),  and  would 
aggravate  this  divine  vengeance  by  the  circumstance 
of  the  place ;  might  as  well  add  the  death  of  Helio- 
gabalus,  who  was  also  slain  in  a  house  of  ofIice.t 
But  what  ?  Irenaeus  was  involved  in  the  same  fortune. 
ThefMd       God  being  pleased  to  show  us,  that  the  good  have 
^^IJJJ^  something  else  to  hope  for,  and  the  wicked  some* 
no  proof  ei-  thing  else  to  fear,  than  the  fortunes  or  misfortunes 
merit  Of  dil  of  the  world,  he  manages  and  applies  them,  accord- 
merit.       Jng  to  his  owu  sccrct  will,  and  deprives  us  of  the 
means,  foolishly  to  make  our  own  profit.     And  those 
people  deceive  themselves,  who  pretend  to  do  it  by 
numan  reason.     They  never  give  one  hit  that  they 
do  not  receive  two  for  it ;  of  which  St.  Augustin 
gives  a  very  great  proof  on  his  adversaries.     It  is  a 
conflict  that  is  more  decided  by  strength  of  memory 
than  the  force  of  reason.     We  are  to  content  our- 
selves with  the  light  it  pleases  the  sun  to  commu- 
nicate to  us,  by  virtue  of  his  rays,  and  he  that  will 
lifl  up  his  eyes  to  take  in  a  greater,  let  him  not  think 
it  strange  if,  for  the  punishment  of  his  presumption, 
he  thereby  lose  his  sight,     Quis  hominum  potest  scire 

*  In  1571. 

f  In  Latrind  adquam  confiigeratf  occisus*    S\xl  Lampridii  He* 
|iogabalu8,  p.  107. 


TO  AVOID  PLEASURES.  263 

consilium  Dei?  Aut  quis  poterit  cogitate^  quidvelit 
Ddminus?  "  Who  amongst  men  can  know  the 
*^  counsel  of  God  ?  Or  who  can  think  what  the  will 
^  of  the  Lord  is?" 


CHAPTER  XXXIL 

To  avoid  Pleasures^  even  at  the  Expense  of  Life. 

1  HAD  long  ago  observed  most  of  the  opinions  oif 
the  ancients  to  concur  in  this,  that  it  is  high  time  to 
die  when  there  is  more  ill  than  good  in  living ;  and 
that  to  preserve  life  to  our  own  torment  and  inconve-^ 
nience,  is  repugnant  to  tbp  very  laws  of  nature,  aa 
these  old  rules  instruct  us : 

ILotXov  ivr^cxuv  olq  uC^i»  to  ^v  ftfih 
Kf ntro-ov  to  jliij  ^v  ir\vf  n  ^v  iixTa^. 

Adieu !  want,  care,  with  misery's  various  train. 
Death  then  is  happy,  when  to  live  is  pain. 

But  to  push  this  contempt  of  death  so  far  as  to  em« 
ploy  it  to  the  drawing  off  our  thoughts  from  the  ho* 
nours,  riches,  dignities,  and  other  favours  and  goods, 
as  we  call  them,  of  fortune,  as  if  reason  were  not  suf- 
ficient  to  persuade  us  to  avoid  them,  without  this  ad- 
ditional injunction,  I  had  never  seen  it  either  com- 
manded or  practised,  till  this  passage  of  Seneca  fell 
into  my  hands;  who  advising  Lucilius,  a  man  of 
great  power  and  authority  about  the  emperor,  to 
alter  his  voluptuous  and  magnificent  way  of  living, 
and  to  withdraw  himself  from  this  worldly  ambition, 
to  some  solitary,  quiet,  and  philosophical  life,  and 
the  other  alleging  some  difficulties;  "  I  am  of  opi- 
**  nion  (says  Cicero,  ep.  32),  either  that  thou  leave 
•*  that  life,  or  life  itself.  I  would,  indeed,  advise 
^  thee  to  die  more  gentle  way,  and  to  untie,  rather 


2^4f  TO  AVOID  FL£ASUB£S. 

^  tiian  to  break,  the  Icaot  thou  hast  indi&creetly  knit, 
**  provided,  that  if  it  be  not  otherwise  to  be  untied, 
^'  thou  break  it.  There  is  no  man  so  great  a  coward, 
^^  that  had  not  rather  fall  at  once,  than  to  be  always 
"  falling."  I  should  have  thought  this  counsel  suit- 
able enough  to  the  stoical  roughness ;  but  it  appears 
the  more  strange,  for  being  borrowed  from  Epicurus, 
who.  writes  the  same,  upon  the  like  occasion,  to  Ido- 
mencus.  Yet  I  ithink  Ihave  observed  something  like 
'  it,  but  with  the  Christian  moderation,  amongst  our 
owfL  people.  St.  Hilary,  bishop  of  Poictiers,  that 
famous  enemy  of  the  Arian  heresy,  being  in  Syria, 
had  intelligence  that  Abra,  his  only  daughter,  whom 
be  left  at  home  with  her  mother,  was  sought  in  mar- 
riage by  the  gayest  noblemen  of  the  country,  as  be- 
iag  a  virgin  lortuousLy  brought  up,  beautifiil,  rich, 
and,  in  the  flower,  of  her  Age  c  whereupon  he  writ  to 
her  (as  it  appears  upon  record)^  that  she  should  re* 
move  her  affection  from  all  those  pleasures  and  ad- 
vantages that  were  proposed  to  her ;  for  he  had  in 
his  travels  found  out  a  much  greater  and  more  worthy 
match  for  her,  a  husba.nd  of  much  greater  power  and 
magnificence,  that  would  present  her  with  robes,  and 
jewels  of  inestimable  value ;  his  design  in  this  was, 
to  dispossesa  her  of  the  af^tite  and  use  of  worldly 
delights,  and  to  join  her  wholly  to  God ;  but  the 
nearest  and  most  certain  way  to  this,  being,  as  ha 
conceived,  the  death  of  his  daughter;  he  never 
ceased,  by  vows,  prayers,  and  oraisons,  to  beg  oi 
God  to  ^all  her  out  of  this  world,  and  take  her  to 
himself,  as  accordingly  it  came  to  pass;  for  soon 
after  his  return  she  died,  at  which  he  expressed  a 
sHflgidar  joy.  This  seems  to  outdo  the  other,  foras* 
miich  as  he  applies  himself  at  first  sight,  to  tlds  me- 
thod  which  they  only  take  secondarily ;  and,  besides, 
ii  was  towards  his  only  daughter.  But  I  will  not 
on^it  the  latter  end  of  this  story,  though  it  be  not  to 
my  purpose:  St.  Hilary'^  wife  having  understood 
from  him  how  the  death  of  their  daughter  was 
brought  about  by  bis  desire  aqd  design,  and  bow 


JPORTUXE  OFTENTIMES  RATIONAL.  265 

muab  happier  she  was^  to  be  removed  out  of  this 
world,  than  to  have  stayed  in  it,  conceived  so  lively 
an  ap^H'ehension  of  the  eternal  and  heavenly  beati- 
tude, that  she  begged  of  her  husband,  with  the  ex« 
•tremest  importunity,  to  do  as  much  for  her ;  and  . 
God,  at  their  joint  request,  calling  her  to  him  shortly 
after,  it  was  a  death  embraced  on  both  sides  ¥rith 
fiingular  content. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

Fortune  is  often  met  with  in  the  Train  of  Reason. 

OUCH  is  the  inconstancy  of  the  various  biasses  of 
fortune,  that  she  cannot  avoid  appearing  to  us  with 
all  sorts  of  faces.  Can  there  be  a  more  express  act 
of  justice  than  this?  The  duke  of  Valentenqis* 
having  resolved,  in  1503,  to  poison  Adrian,  cardinal 
of  Cometto,  with  whom  pope  Alexander  the  Sixth, 
his  father,  and  himself,  were  to  sup  at  his  house  in 
the  Vatican,  he  sent  before  a  bottle  of  poisoned 
wine,  apd  withal  strict  order  to  the  butler  to  keep 
it  very  safe.  The  pope  being  come  before  his  son, 
and  calling  for  a  whet,  the  butler,  supposing  this  wine 
was  so  stnctly  recommended  to  his  care  only  upon 
account  of  its  excellence,  served  a  glass  of  it  to  the 
pope,  and  the  duke  himself  coming  in  presently  a& 
ter,  and  believing  his  bottle  had  not  been  touched, 
took  also  his  glass ;  so  that  the  father  died  immedi- 
ately upon  the  place,  and  the  son,  after  having  been 
long  tormented  with  sickness,  was  reserved  to  an* 
otltier  and  a  worse  fortune. 

•  History  of  Francis  Guiccardin,  lib.  vi.  p.  267,  printed  at  Ve- 
nice,  by  Gabriel  GioUto,  m  1568. 


266  FORTUNE  OFTENTIMES  RATIONAL* 

portHM         Sometimes  she  seems  to  play  upon  us,  just  in  the 

Mwnsiorae.  j^j^j^  of  time.       MonsicuF  d*Estree,  at  that  time 

»port  with  guidon  to  Monsieur  de  Vendosme ;  and  Monsieur  de 

"*  Liques,  lieutenant  to  the  company  of  the  duke  of 

Arscot,  being  both  suitors  to  the  Sieur  de  Founge- 

selles's  sister,  though  of  different  parties  (as  it  oft 

falls  out  among  frontier  neighbours),  the  Sieur  de 

Liques  carried  her;    but  on  the  very  day  he  was 

married,  and  which  was  worse,  before  he  went  to 

bed  to  his  wife,  the  bridegroom,  having  a  mind  to 

break  a  lance  in  honour  of  his  new  bride,  went  out 

to  skirmish,  near  to  St,  Omers,   where  the   Sieur 

d'Estree  proving  the  stronger,  took  him  prisoner, 

and  to  render  his  victory  the  more  brilliant,  the  lady 

herself  was  fain 

CConjugis  ante  coacia  novi  dimittere  collumj 
Quam  veniens  una^  atque  altera  rursus  hyemsy 
rTocttbus  in  langis  avidum  saturasset  amorem.* 

Off  her  fair  amis,  the  am'rous  ring  to  break. 
Which  clung  so  fast  to  her  new  spouse's  neck. 
Ere  of  two  winters  many  a  friendly  night 
Had  sated  their  love's  greedy  appetite. 

to  request  the  favour  of  him,  to  deliver  up  his  pri- 
soner to  her,  as  he  accordingly  did,  the  gentlemen 
of  France  never  denying  any  thing  to  tne  ladies. 
Does  not  fortune  seem  to  be  an  artist  here  ?  Con- 
stantine,  the  son  of  Hellen,  founded  the  empire  of 
Constantinople,  and  some  ages  after,  Constantine, 
the  son  of  Hellen,  put  an  end  to  it.  Sometimes  she 
is  pleased  to  emulate  our  miracles.  We  are  told, 
that  king  Clovis  besieging  Angoulesme,  the  walk, 
by  the  divine  favour,  fell  down  of  themselves.  And 
Bouchet  has  it  from  some  author,  that  king  Robert 
having  sat  down  before  a  city,  and  afterwards  stolen 
away  from  the  siege  to  keep  the  feast  of  St  Aig- 
nan,  at  Orleans ;  as  he  was  in  devotion,  at  a  certainr 
part  of  the  mass,  the  walls  of  the  beleagured  city, 

*  Catullus  ad  Manl.  ver.  81,  &c. 


PORTUNE   OFTENTIMES   RATIONAL.  267 

without  any  effort  irade  against  them,  on  a  sudden 
tumbled  down.  But  she  did  quite  contrary  in  our 
Milan  war ;  for  captain  Reuse  laying  siege  to  the 
city  Verona,  and  having  carried  a  mine  under  a 
great  part  of  the  wall,  it  was  lifted  from  its  base,  by 
the  springing  of  the  mine,  but  dropt  down  again, 
nevertheless,  whole  and  entire,  and  so  exactly  upon 
its  foundation,  that  the  besieged  suffered  no  incon- 
venience by  it. 

Sometimes  she  plays  the  physician.  Jason  Phereus,  Fortene 
being  given  over  by  the  physicians,  by  reason  of  anJJ[^JJJ^ 
imposthume  in  his  breast,  and  having  a  mind  to  rid  tor. 
himself  of  it  by  death,  rushed  desperately  into  the 
thickest  ranks  of  the  enemy,  where  he  was  for- 
innately  wounded  quite  through  the  body,  so  that 
the  imposthume  broke,  and  he  was  cured.* 

Did  she  not  also'  excel  the  painter  Protogenes  insomcUmw 
the  knowledge  of  his  art  ?  This  man  finished  the^orTiS! 
picture  of  a  dog  quite  tired,  and  out  of  breath,  in 
all  the  other  parts  excellently  well  to  his  own  liking, 
but  not  being  able  to  express,  as  he  would,  the  .: .   . 
slaver  and  foam   of  his  mouth,  he  was  so  vexed 
with  his  work,  that  be  took  a  spunge,  which,  by 
cleaning    his    pencils,    had    imbibed   a   variety  of 
colours,  and  threw  it  in  a  rage  against  the  picture, 
with  an  intent  utterly  to  deface  it ;    when  fortune 
guiding  the  spunge  to  hit  just  upon  the  mouth  of 
the  dog,  it  there  performed  what  art  could  not  at- 
tain to.t 

Does  she  not  sometimes  direct  our  counsels,  andAod! 


correct  them  ?  Isabel,  queen  of  England,  being  to^^^^u 
return  from  Zealand  to  her  own  kingdom  in  l326,oarcoiiii, 
with  an  army  in  fevour  of  her  son,  against  her  hus^'*'** 
band,  had  been  lost  had  she  come  into  the  port  she 

*  Plin.  Nat.  Hist.  lib.  vii.  cap.  50.  Valerius  Maximus  who  men- 
tions this  accident,  lib.  i.  cap.  9,  in  Externis,  represents  the  fact  in 
a  manner  still  more  miraculous,  for  he  says,  that  Jason  received  this 
important  service  from  an  assassin.  Seneca  ascribes  this  accident  to 
|he  same  cause.    De  Benef.  lib.  ii.  cap.  19. 

f  Plin.  ^at  Hist.  lib.  xxxv.  cap.  10. 


968  FORTUNE   OFTENTIMES   RATIONAL. 

intended,  being  there  laid  wait  for  by  the  enemy ; 
but  fortune,  against  her  will,  threw  her  into  another 
haven,  where  she  landed  in  safety.  And  he  of  old, 
who,  throwing  a  stone  at  a  dog,  hit  and  killed  lus 
mother-in-law ;  had  he  not  reason  to  pronounce  this 
verse : 

— —  By  this  you  see. 
Fortune  takes  surer  aim  than  vte. 

gtiff.9^r<'  Icetest  had  tampered  with  two  soldiers  to  kill 
»•««•  *•  Timoleon,  at  Adrano  in  Sicily.  They  took  their 
wlTp^""  time  to  do  it,  when  he  was  performing  a  sacrifice  ; 
*«««*  when  thrusting  into  the  crowd,  as  they  were  making- 
signs  to  one  another,  that  now  was  a  fit  time  for 
their  business,  in  steps  a  third,  who,  with  a  sword 
struck  one  of  them  violently  over  the  pate,  and 
laying  him  dead  upon  the  place,  runs  away.  His 
companion  concludmg  himself  discovered  and  un- 
done,  ran  to  the  altar,  and  begged  for  protection, 
promising  to  discover  the  whole  truth.  And  while 
he  was  laying  open  the  whole  conspiracy,  behold  a 
third  man,  who,  being  apprehended,  was,  as  a  mur- 
derer, pulled  and  haled  by  the  people  through 
the  crowd,  towards  Timoleon,  and  other  the  most 
eminent  persons  of  the  assembly,  to  whom  he  cried 
for  pardon,  pleading  that  he  had  justly  slain  his 
father's  murderer ;  and  proving  upon  the  spot,  by 
sufficient  witnesses,  which  his  good  fortune  very  op- 
portunelv  supplied  him  withal,  that  his  father  was 
really  killed  in  the  city  of  the  Leontines  by  that 
very  man  on  whom  he  liad  taken  his  revenge,  he  was 
rewarded  ten  Attic  minae,?  for  having  had  the  good 
fortune,  while  be  was  taking  satisfaction  for  the 
death  of  his  father,  to  preserve  the  life  of  the  com- 

*  Menander. 

f  He  was  a  Sicilian,  born  at  Syracuse^  that  aimed  ta  oppress  the 
liberty  of  his  countnT*  of  n'hich  fimoleon  was  the  protector.  Flu** 
tarch  in  die  Life  of  Timoleon,  chap.  7« 

%  The  old  Attic  mina  wai  6eventy-five  drachau* 


OF  ONE  DEFECT  IN  OUR  GOVERNMENT.  269 

mon  fether  of  the  Sicilians.  Thus  fortune,  in  her 
conduct,  surpasses  all  the  rules  of  common  pru- 
dence. 

To  conclude,  is  there  not  a  direct  application  of  ][2J[  ^^^ 
her  favour,  bounty,  and  piety,  manifestly  discovered  ^06cHbc4 
in  this  action  ?  Ignatius,*  the  father,  and  Ignatius,  ^ie^r^bj 
the  son,  being  proscribed  by  the  Triumviri  of  Rome,aipeciia 
resolved  upon  this  generous  act  of  mutual  kindness^  fort«!^ 
to  fall  by  the  hands  of  one  another,  and  by  that 
means  to  finstrate  the  cruelly  of  the  tyrants.     Ac- 
cordingly, with  their  swords  drawn,  they  rushed  one 
upon  another,  where  fortune  so  guided  the  points^ 
that  they  gave  two  wounds  equally  mortal,  affording 
withal  so  much  honour  to  so  brave  a  friendship,  as  to 
leave  them  just  strength    enough  to  draw  out  of 
their  wounds  their  bloody  weapons,  that  they  might 
have  liberty  to  clasp  one  anotner  in  this  condition 
with  so  close  an  embrace,  that  the  executioners  cut 
off  both  their  heads  at  once,  leaving  the  bodies  fast 
linked  together  in  this  noble  knot,  and  their  wounds 
close  to  each  other,  affectionately  sucking  in  the 
blood  and  the  remainder  of  one  another's  lives. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

Of  one  Defect  in  our  Government. 

jS/lY  deceased  father,  who,  for  a  man  that  had  no  The  atiuty 
other  advantages  than  experience  only,  and  his  ownj^t^nui, 
natural  parts,  was  nevertneless  of  a  very  clear  judg-«fflc««f  »•>" 
ment,    has  formerly  told  me    that    he  once   had^"*^^* 
thoughts  of  endeavouring  to  introduce  this  practice ; 
that  there  might  be  in  every  city  a  certain  place  as- 
signed, to  which  such  as  stood  in  need  of  any  thing 
might  repair,  and  have  their  business  entered  by  an 

*  Appian  Alexand.  de  Bellia  Civilibus,  lib.  iv.  p.  969. 


S70  OF  Ol^E  DEFECT  IN  OUR  GOVERNMENT. 

officer  appointed  for  that  purpose ;  as  for  example^  t 
want  to  sell,  or  to  buy,  pearls :  such  a  one  wants 
company  to  go  to  Paris  :  such  a  one  inquires  for  a 
servant  of  such  a  quality  :  such  a  one  for  a  master : 
such  a  one  inquires  for  an  artificer :    some  for  one 
thing,  some  for  another,    every  one  according  to 
what  he  wants.     And,  I  fancy,  these  mutual  adver- 
tisements would  be  of  no  contemptible  advantage  to 
the  public   correspondence    and  intelligence :    for 
there  are  always  people  that  hunt  after  one  another, 
and,  for  want  of  knowing  one  another's  occasions, 
men  are  left  in  very  great  necessity. 
The  miser-     I  hear,  to  the  great  shame  of  the  age  we  live  in, 
JciJjJfjuJthat  in  our  very  sight  two  most  excellent  men,  for 
«nd  Ca».   learning,  died  so  poor,  that  they  had  scarce  bread  to 
put  in  their  mouths,  Lilius  Gregorius  Giraldus  in 
Italy,  and  Sebastianus  Castalio  in  Germany :   and  I 
do  believe,  there  are  a  thousand  men  would  have 
invited  them  into  their  families,  with  very  advan- 
tageous conditions,    or  have  relieved  them  where 
they  were,  had  they  known  their  wants.     The  world 
is  not  so  generally  corrupted,  but  that  I  know  a 
man  that  would  heartily  wish  the  estate  his  ancestors 
have  lefl  him,  might  be  employed,  so  long  as  it  shall 
please  fortune  to  let  him  possess  it,  to  shelter  re- 
markable persons  of  any  kind,  whom  misfortune 
sometimes  persecutes  to  the  last  degree,  from  the 
danger  of  necessitv ;  and  at  least  place  them  in  such 
a  condition,  that  they  must  be  very  hard  to  please  if 
they  were  not  contented. 
*j*^jy       My  father,  in  his  economical  government,  had 
reifuUitionithis  ordcr  (which  I  know  how  to  commend,  but  by 
by^Mo^    no  means  to  imitate),  which  was,  that  besides  the 
tai^e*a  fa- register  he  kept  of  the  houshold  affairs,  where  the 
^^'        small  accounts,  payments,  and  contracts,  which  do 
not  require  a  secretary's  hand,  were  entered,  and 
which  his  bailiff  always  had  in  custody ;  he  ordered 
him,  whom  he  kept  to  write  for  him,  to  keep  a  paper 
journal,  and  in  it  to  set  down  all  the  remarkable  oc- 
currences, and  daily  memoirs  of  his  fiimily  affidrs ; 


Op  the  custom  of  wearing  clothes.  ^  271 

Very  pleasant  to  look  over  when  time  begins  to  wear 
things  out  of  memory,  and  very  useful  sometimes  to 
put  us  out  of  doubt,  when  such  a  thing  was  begun, 
when  ended,  what  visitors  came,  with  what  atten- 
dants, and  how  long  they  staid ;  our  voyages,  ab- 
sences, marriages,  deaths,  reception  of  good  or  ill 
news  J  the  change  of  princip^  servants,  and  the 
like.  An  ancient  custom,  which  I  think  it  would 
not  be  amiss  for  every  one  to  revive  in  his  own 
femily  J  and  I  find  I  did  very  foolishly  in  neglecting 
the  same. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

Of  the  Custom  of  wearing  Clothes* 

\t  HATEVER  I  shall  say  upon  this  subject,  1  am  what  p^ 
of  necessity  to  force  a  barrier  of  custom,  so  carefiil]^jj|^j^^ 
has  she  been  to  shut  up  all  the  avenues.     I  was  dis-some  m. 
Jputing  with  mpelf,  in  this  cold  season,  whether  the|J^"**** 
custom  of  going  naked,  in  those  nations  lately  dis-n^ked. 
covered,  is  owing  to  the  hot  temperature  of  their 
air,  as  we  say  of  the  Moors  and  Indians,  or  whether 
it  was  the  original  custom  of  mankind :  men  of  un- 
derstanding, forasmuch  as  all  things  under  the  sun, 
as  the  holy  writ  declares,  are  subject  to  the  same 
laws,  were  wont,  in  such  consideratiotii^  as  these, 
where  we  are  to  distinguish  the  natural  laws  from 
those  of  human  invention,  to  have  recourse  to  the 
general  polity  of  the  world,  where  there  could  be 
nothing  counterfeited.      Now  all  other    creatures 
being  sufficiently  furnished  with  necessaries  for  their 
existence,  it  is  not  to  be  imagined,  that  we  only 
should  be  brought  into  the  world,  in  a  defective  and 
indigent  condition,  and  in  a  state  that  cannot  subsist 
without  foreign  assistance  ;  and  therefore  I  believe, 
that  as  plants,  trees,  animals,  and  all  things  that  have 


272  OF  THE  CUSTOM 

life,  are  by  nature  sufficiently  covered,  to  defend 
tiiem  from  the  injuries  of  weather, 

Propteredque  fere  res  omnes,  aid  corio  sunt, 

Aut  seidy  out  conchiSf  out  callo,  out  cartice  tectce.* 

And  therefore  shells,  or  rinds,  or  fihns  inclose^ 
Or  skin,  or  hair,  on  ev'ry  body  grows. 

SO  were  we :  but  as  those  who  by  artificial  light  put 
out  that  of  the  day,  so  we  by  borrowed  forms  have 
destroyed,  our  own.  And  it  is  plain,  that  it  is  cus* 
torn  which  renders  that  impossible  to  us,  which  other- 
wise is  not  so ;  for  of  those  nations  who  have  no  no- 
tion of  clothing,  some  are  situated  under  the  same 
temperate  climate  that  we  are,  and  some  in  much 
severer  climates.  And,  besides,  our  most  tender 
parts  are  always  exposed  to  the  air,  as  the  eyes, 
mouth,  nose,  and  ears ;  and  our  peasants,  like  our 
ancestors  in  former  times,  go  open-breasted  to  the 
waist.*  Had  we  been  bom  with  a  necessity  of  wear- 
ing  petticoats  and  breeches,  there  is  no  doubt  but 
nature  would  have  fortified  those  parts  she  intended 
should  be  exposed  to  the  fury  of  tne  seasons,  witii  a 
thicker  skin,  as  she  has  done  the  fingers*  ends,  and 
the  soles  of  the  feet  And  why  should  this  seem 
hard  to  believe  ?  I  observe  much  greater  difference 
between  my  habit  and  that  of  one  of  our  country 
boors,  than  between  his  and  a  man  that  has  no  other 
covering,  but  his  skin.  How  many  men,  especially 
in  Turkey,  go  naked  upon  the  account  of  devotimi? 
I  know  not  who  it  was  that  asked  a  beggar,  whom 
he  saw  in  his  shirt  in  the  depth  of  winter,  as  brisk  as 
another  muffled  up  to  the  ears  in  fiirs,  how  he  could 
endure  to  go  so.  "  Why,  Sir,**  said  he,  **you go 
"  with  your  face  bare,  but  I  am  all  face.**  The  Ita- 
lians, I  think,  have  a  story  of  the  duke  of  Florence*8 
fbpl,  whom  his  master  askmg,  ^'  How,  being  so  thin 
^^  clad,  he  was  able  to  support  the  cold,  which  he 

*  Lucret  lib,  iv.  ver.  QSS,  934. 


1 


OF  WEARIKC  CLOTHES.  S75 

•*  himself  was  so  guarded  against  ?"  "  Why,"  re- 
pKed  the  fool^  "  use  my  receipt,  to  put  on  all  the 
^'  clothes  you  have  at  once  as  I  do,  and  you  will  feel 
^^  no  more  cold  than  I."*  King  Massinissa,  to  an 
extreme  old  age,  could  never  be  prevailed  upon  to 
go  with  his  hecid  covered,  how  cold,  stormy,  or  rainy 
soever  the  weather  might  be ;  which  also  is  reported 
of  the  emperor  Severus.  Herodotus  tells  us,t  that 
in  the  battles  fought  between  the  Egyptians  and  the 
Persians,  it  was  observed,  both  by  himself  and  others, 
that  of  those  who  were  left  dead  upon  the  place,  the 
heads  of  the  Egyptians  were  found  to  be  without 
comparison  harder  than  those  of  the  Persians,  by 
season  that  the  last  had  gone  with  their  heads  always 
covered  from  their  infancy,  first,  with  biggins,  and 
then  with  tiu-bans,  and  the  others  were  always  shaved 
and  bare.  And  king  Agesilaus,  to  a  decrepid  age^ 
took  care  to  wear  always  the  same  clothes  in  winter 
that  he  did  in  summer.  CsBsar,  says  Suetonius,1: 
marched  always  at  the  head  of  his  army  for  the 
most  part  on  foot,  with  his  head  bare,  whether  it 
was  rain  or  sun-shine  ;  and  as  much  is  said  of  Han- 
nibal : 

■  ■    '    Turn  vertice  nudoy 
Excipere  insanos  imbres,  ccelique  ruinam.^ 

Exposing  his  bare  head  to  furious  show'rs. 
While  hail  or  rain  in  torrents  on  it  pours. 

A  Venetian,  who  has  long  lived  in  Pegu,  and  is 
lately  returned  from  thence,  writes,  that  the  men 
and  women  of  that  kingdom,  though  they  cover  all 
their  other  parts,  go  sdways  bare-foot,  and  ride  so 
top.  And  rlato  very  eaniestly  advises,  for  the 
health  of  the  whole  body,  to  give  the  head  and  the 
feet  no  other  covering  than  what  nature  has  bestowed. 
He  whom  the  Poles  have  elected  for  their  king  (since 
ours  came  thence),  who  is,  indeed,  one  of  the  great^ 


*  Cicero  of  Old  Age^  cap^  x.        f  Lib.  iii.  p.  186,  1S7« 
^  Sueton.  Jul.  Cssar^  sect.  58k     §  Silius  It.  lib.  L  ver.  250»  251. 
VOL,  If  T 


2?4  OF   tHE   CUSTOTI 

.  est  princes  of  this  age,  never  wears  any  gloves,  and 
be  it  in  winter,  or  whatever  weather,  never  weafs 
any  other  cap  abroad  than  what  he  wears  at  home. 
Whereas  I  cannot  endure  to  go  unbuttoned,  or  un- 
tied ;  my  neighbouring  labourers  would  think  them- 
selves in  fetters  if  they  were  so  braced«  Varro  is  of 
opinion,  that  when  it  was  ordained  we  should  have 
;  our  heads  uncovered  in  the  presence  of  the  gods,  or 
the  magistrate,*  it  was  rather  so  ordered  upon  the 
score  of  health,  and  to  iniire  us  to  the  injuries  of 
weather,  than  upon  the  account  of  reverence.  And 
since  we  are  now  treating  of  cold,  and  of  Frenchmen 
being  used  to  wear  variety  of  colours  (notr  I  myself, 
for  I  seldom  wear  other  tnan  black,  or  white,  in  imi- 
tation of  my  father),  let  us  add  another  story  of  cap- 
tain Martin  du  Bellay,  who  affirms  that,  in  his  Lux- 
embourg journey,  he  saw  so  sharp  frosts,  that  the 
ammunition  wine  was  cut  with  hatchets  and  wedges, 
delivered  out  to  the  soldiers  by  weight,t  and  that 
they  carried  it  away  in  baskets ;  and  Ovid  says, 

Nttdaque  consistuvt  formam  servantia  testae 
Vinoy  nee  hausia  meri,  sed  data  frusta  bibunt.X 

— —  Tlie  wine, 
Dug  from  its  cask,  retaitis  the  figure  still. 
Nor  do  they  draughts,  but  crusts  of  Bacchus  swiO. 

At  the  mouth  of  the  lake  Moeotis,  the  frosts  are  so 
very  sharp,  that  on  the  same  spot  where  the  lieute- 
nant of  mithridates  had  fought  the  enemv  dry-foot, 
and  given  them  a  defeat,  the  summer  ^Uowing  he 
also  obtained  over  them  a  naval  victory. 

The  Romans  fought  at  a  great  disadvantage,  in  the 
engagement  they  had  with  the  Carthaginians  near 

*  Plin.  Nat«  Hist.  lib.  xxviii^  cap*  6. 

f  Philip  de  Comines,  speaking  of  such  cold  weather  in  his  time 

"  (1469)  in  the  principality  of  Liege,  says,  that  the  wine  was  in  lite 

manner  in  their  pipes,  and  that  it  was  dug  out,  and  cut  into  the  fonn 

of  wedges,  and  so  carried  off  by  gentlemen  in  huts  or  baskets,  lib.  ii« 

cap.  ll*. 

, .      t  Ovid  Trist.  lib/  iii*  eL  10,  ver*  23>  24r 


OP  WfiARlKb   ClOTEtfiS.  275 

Hacentia,*  by  reason  that  they  went  on  to  charge 
with  their  blood  chilled,  and  their  limbs  benumbed 
with  cold ;  whereas  Hannibal  had  caused  great  fires 
to  be  dispersed  quite  through  the  camp^  to  warm  his 
soldiers ;  and  oil  to  be  distributed  amongst  them,  to 
the  end  that,  anointing  themselves,  they  might  ren- 
der their  nerves  more  supple  and  active,  and  fortify 
the  pores  against  the  piercing  air  and  freezing  wind, 
that  raged  in  that  season. 

The  retreat  the  Greeks  made  from  Babylon  into  Terrible 
their  own  country,  is  fitmons  for  the  difficulties  and  ^^r^y 
calamities  they  had  to  overcome.     Of  which  this  was  snow  in  the 
one:  that  bemg  encountered  in  the  mountains  ofJI'f^"Jii^^^^^^ 
Armenia  with  a  horrible  storm  of  snow,  they  lost  all 
knowledge  of  the  country,  and  of  the  roads,  and, 
being  shut  up,  were  a  day  and  a  night  without  eating 
and  drinking,  during  which  most  of  their  cattle  died, 
many  of  themselves  were  starved,  several  struck  blind 
with  the  driving  of  the  hail  and  the  flittering  of  the 
snow,  many  of  them  maimed  in  their  fingers  and  toes, 
and  many  rendered  stiff  and  motionless  with  the  ex- 
tremity Of  the  cold,  who  had  yet  their  understanding 
entire. 

Alexander  saw  a  nation  where  they  bury  the  fruit-  rnUJtren 
trees  in  winter,  to  defend  them  from  the  frost,  and  JUe'  j;^ J,",. 
we  also  may  see  the  same. 

But  concerning  clothes,  the  king  of  Mexico  now  often 
changed  his  clothed  four  times  a  day,  and  never  put  ^lexk"^  ^^ 
them  on  more,  employing  those  he  left  off  in  hiscMn^nihu 
continual  liberalities  and  rewards;  as  also,  neither 5'^^^'* '■  * 
pot,  dish,  nor  other  utensil  of  his  kitchen,  or  table, 
was  ever  served  in  twice. 

*  Tit  Liv.  lib.  xxl  cap.  54, 55. 


tH 


sn  .  or  CATC  ^aa  toxnroEiu 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

Of  Cato  the  Younger. 

1  AM  ndt  gu3ty  of  the  common  error  oif  juc]giitg 
another  by  mysw.  I  easify  admit  the  difi^ences^ 
among  mitnkind.  And  thouffh  I  find  my^lf  engaged 
to  one  form^  I  do  not  oDiige  mankind  to  it  as 
many  do ;  bnt  believe  and  apprehend  a  thousand  op- 
posite itiodes  of  living,  and,  contrary  to  moist  men, 
more  easily  admit  of  diffi^renoes  than  uniformly 
amongst  usk  I,  as  frankly  as  anv  would  have  me, 
discharge  another  being  from  my  humours  add  prin* 
dples,4md  consider  him  according  to  his  own  modeL 
Though  I  am  not  continent  myself,  I  nevertheless 
sincerely  approve  the  continency  of  the  Capuchins, 
and  other  religious  orders,  smd  am  pleased  with  their 
way  of  living.  I  fancy  that  I  should  like  to  be  in 
their  place,  and  love  and  honour  them  the  more  for 
being  what  I  am  not.^  I  desire,  in  particular,  that  we 
may  be  censured  every  man  by  himself,  and  ^oiild 
not  be  drawn  into  the  consequence  of  common  ex- 
amples* My  weakness  does  nothing  alter  the  esteem. 
I  ought  to  have  of  the  force  and  vigour  of  those  who 
deserve  it.  Sunt  qui  nihil  madent^  quam  quod  se 
imitari  posse  confidunt  :•  **  There  are  some  who  per- 
"  suade  nothing  but  what  they  believe  they  can  mu- 
**  tate  themselves."  Crawling  as  I  am  upon  the  slim^ 
of  the  earth,  I  do  riot,  for  all  that,  cease  to  observe,  up 
in  the  clouds,  the  inimita^ble  height  of  some  heroic 
souls ;  it  is  a  great  deal  for  me  to  have  my  judgment 
regular,  if  the  effects  cannot  be  so,  and  to  maintain 
this  sovereign  part,  at  least,  free  from  corruption : 
it  is  something  to  have  my  will  good  when  my  legs 
fail  me.  This  age  wherein  we  live,  in  our  part  of 
the  world  at  least,  is  grown  so  stupid,  that  not  only 

*  Cicero  de  Or.  ad  Brutuxni  cap.  7r 


OF  CATO  THE  YOUKOEX.  ^  STT 

the  exercise,  but  the  very  notion  of  virtue  is  defec- 
tive, and  seems  to  be  only  college  jargon : 

^ — Firtutem  verba  putant,  ui 

Lttcwm  lignaJ^ 

Words  finely  couchM  these  men  fbr  virtue  take ; 
As  if  each  wood  a  sacred  grore  could  make. 

Quam  vereri  deberentjf  etiam  si  percipere  non  pos^ 
sent  :X  "  Which  they  ought  to  reverence,  though 
^^  they  cannot  comprehend  it."  It  is  a  mere  gew-gaw 
to  hang  in  a  cabinet,  or  at  the  end  of  the  tongue,  a^ 
on  the  tip  of  the  ear,  for  ornament  only.  . 

Th^re  are  now  no  virtuous  actions,  and  such  as  vidoiM 
carry  a  show  of  virtue  have  yet  nothing  of  its  essence;  "ro  ^Si*** 
by  reason  that  profit,  glory,  fear,  custom,  and  other  m^occ  of 
such  foreign  causes,  are  generally  incentives  to  them.  ^^^"^ 
The  same  may  be  said  of  justice,  valour,  and  cour* 
tesy,  in  respect  to  others,  and  according  to  the  face 
they  appear  with  to  the  public.    The  practice  of 
them  is  by  no  means  virtue,  because  there  is  another    ^        . 
end  proposed,  smother  moving  cause.    Virtue  owns 
nothmg  to  be  hers,  but  what  is  done  by  herself,  and 
jGbr  herself  alone. 

In  that  great   battle  of  Potid8sa,§    where  thewbythe 
Greeks,  under  Pausanias,  defeated  Mardonius  and^^JU^^J^ 
the  Persians,  the  conquerors,  according  to  their  cus-  reward  of 
torn,  coming  to  divide  amongst  them  the  glory  oTJ^^^J^^ 
the  exploit,  they  attributed  to  the  Spartan  nation  the  who  stgna. 
pre-eminence  of  valour  in  this  engagement    ThelJ^f^^olT^^ 
Spartans,  who  were  great  judges  of  virtue,  when»»tii«. 
they  came  to  determine  to  what  particular  man  of 
their  nation  the  honour  was  due,  of  having  behaved 
himself  best  upon  this  occasion,  found  that  Aristo- 


»  Horace,  ep.  6,  lib.  i.  rer.  SI,  32. 

f  Montaigne  applies  to  virtue  what  Cicero  here  says  of  phiIo« 
aophy,  and  of  thote  who  presume  to  find  fault  with  it. 

X  Cicero  Tusc  QuaesL  lib.  v.  cap.  2. 
.    §  Montaigne  has  here  put  Potidiaea  for  Plataea.   Cornelius  Nepos, 
in  the  Life  of  Pausaniasi  cap.  L    ^  Hujus  est  iUustrissimam  proe- 
«  lium  apud  Platseas.^' 


Its  ,0F  CATO   THE  YOUNGER. 

dcmus*  had  of  dll  others  hazarded  his-  person  with 
the  greatest  bravery.     They  did  not,  however,  allow 
him  any  prize,  because  he  had  been  incited  by  a  de« 
sire  to  clear  his  reputation  from  the  reproach  it  had 
incurred  in  the  action  at  Thermopylae. 
Many  peo-     Our  judgmcuts  are  sick,  and  conformable  to  the 
!iiVri!l-1««e''  corruption  of  our  manners.    I  observe .  most  of  the 
*»»^n«hi«t  wits  of  these  times  pretend  to  shine  by  obscuring  the 
aocienu!  *  glory  of  the  brave  and  generous  actions  of  former 
ages,  putting  some  vile  construction  upon  them,  and 
forging  vain  causes  and  motives  of  them.    A  mighty 
subtlety  indeed !     Show  me  the  greatest  and  most 
unblemished  action  in  life,  and  I  will  invent  fifty  bad 
ends  to  obscure  it ;  God  knows,  whose  intention  will 
extend  them  out  to  the  full,  what  diversity  of  images 
our  internal  wills  are  liable  to ;  they  do  not  censure 
so  much  from  a  spirit  of  malice,  as  from  ignorance. 
Mnntaipie      The  Same  pains  and  license  that  others  take  to  de- 
^ntroryf  tract  from  these  illustrious  names,  I  would  willingly 
«»^  ^^y-   take  to  raise  them  higher.     As  for  those  rare  figures 
that  are  culled  out  by  the  consent  of  the  wisest  men, 
for  an  example  to  the  world,  I  should  not  stick  to 
honour  them  more,  as  far  as  my  invention  would 
permit,  by  the  circumstances  of  favourable  construc- 
tion.    And  we  are  to  believe  that  the  force  of  our 
invention  is  infinitely  short  of  their  merit.     It  is  the 
duty  of  good  men  to  paint  virtue  as  beautiful  as  pos- 
sible;  and  there  would  be  no  indecency  in  the  case, 
should  our  passion  a  little  transport  us  in  favour  of 
such  sacred  forms.     What  these  people  do  to  the 
contrary,  they  either  do  out  of  malice,  or  by  the 
vice  of  confining  their  belief  to  their  own  capaci^, 
as  aforesaid,  or  which  I  am  more  inclined  to  think, 
.    for  not  having  their  sight  strong,  clear,  and  elevated 
varioni     cnough,  to  couccive  the  splendour  of  virtue  in  her 
X'S'^^.^tive  purity;   as  Plutarch  complains,  that  in  his 
of  the      time  some  attributed  the  cause  df  the  younger  Cato's 
^^r*^    death  to  his  fear  of  Cassar,  at  which  he  seems  very 

*  Herodot,  lib.  ix.  p.  614, 


OP   CATO  THE   YOUNGER.  279' 

angry,  and  with  good  reason ;  and  by  that  a  man' 
may  guess  how  much  more  he  would  have  been  o& 
fend^  with  those  who  have  attributed  it  to  ambi^ 
tion ;  silly  people !  he  would  have  performed  a  hand- 
some, just,  and  generous  action,  though  he  had  ig- 
nominy for  his  reward,  rather  than  glory.  That  man 
was,  in  truth,  a  pattern,  whom  nature  chose  out  to 
show  to  what  height  human  virtue  and  constancy 
could  arrive. 

But  I  am  not  capable  of  handling  so  noble  an  ar- choice  pas. 
gument ;  I  will  therefore  onlv  enter  five  Latin  poets  ^^'^w^^^l^**^ 
in  the  lists,  contending  in  the  praise  of  Cato^  andinprai«eof 
inclusively  for  their  own  too.     Now  a  man,  well  read  ^J^  ^ 
in  poetry,  will  think  the  first  two,  in  comparison  of  ««««««»«» 
the  others,   languishing;    the  third  more  vigorous, ^i^e!"' 
but  overthrown  by  the  extravagancy  of  his  own  force. 
He  will  then  thinks  that  there  will  be  yet  room  for 
one  or  two  gradations  of  invention  to  come  to  the 
fourth ;  and  coming  to  mount  the  pitch  of  that,  he 
will  lift  up  his  hand  in  admiration.     At  the  last,  the 
first  by  some  space  (but  a  space  that  he  will  swear  is 
not  to  be  filled  up  by  any  human  wit),  he  will  be  as- 
tonished, he  will  not  know  where  he  is. 

It  is  very  surprising  that  we  have  more  poets  than^.EioriiPot 
judges  and  interpreters  of  poetry.  It  is  easier  to  J^^'J^ 
write  a  poem  than  to  understand  one.  Tliere  is,  in- 
deed, a  certain  low  poetry,  that  a  man  may  judge  by 
precepts  and  art ;  but  the  true,  supreme,  and  divine 
poesy  is  above  all  rules  and  reason.  And  whoever 
discerns  the  beauty  of  it,  with  a  strong  and  steady 
sight,  sees  no  ipore  than  a  flash  of  lightning.  This 
is  a  sort  of  poesy  that  does  not  exercise,  but  ravishes 
and  overwhelms  our  judgment.  The  fury  that  pos- 
sesses him  who  is  able  to  penetrate  into  it,  also  strikes 
a  third  man  by  hearing  him  repeat  it ;  like  a  load- 
stone, that  not  only  attracts  the  needle,  but  also  com- 
municates to  it  the  virtue  to  attract  others.  And  it 
is  more  evident  at  our  theatres,  that  the  sacred  inspi*. 
ration  of  the  Muses,  having  first  stirred  up  the  poet 
to  anger,  sorrow,  hatred,  and  to  be  out  of  himself^ 


380  OP  CATC   THS   YOUNGER. 

whenever  they  will,  does  moreover  by  the  poet  pos* 
sess  the  actor,  and  by  the  actor  consequently  all  the 
spectators.     So  much  do  our  passions  hang  and  de* 
pend  upon  one  another. 
What  son      Poetry  has  ever  had  that  power  over  me  from  a 
Xiiluli^ie  child,  to  pierce  and  transport  me ;  but  this  quick 
preferred,  sense  of  it  that  is  natural  to  me,  has  been  variously 
handled  by  variety  of  forms,  and  not  so  much  higher 
and  lower  (for  they  were  ever  the  highest  in  eveiy 
kind),   as  differing  in   colour.      First,   a  gay  and 
sprightly  fluency,   afterwards  an  acute  and  pene- 
trating subtlety ;  and  lastly,  a  mature  and  constant 
force.     An  example  from  Ovid,  Lucan,  and  Virgil, 
will  better  express  them.    But  our  poets  are  begin* 
ning  their  career* 
One  says. 

Sit  Cato  dum  vivitfoma  vel  Ccpsare  major.* 

Let  Cato*s  feme. 

Whilst  he  shall  li?e,  eclipse  great  Ceesar's  name. 

A  second  says, 

Et  invktum  devicta  morte  Catonem.f 

And  Cato  fell,  invincible  in  death. 

And  the  third,  speaking  of  the  civil  wars  between 
Caesar  and  Pompey : 

Ftctrix  causa  Diis  placuii,  sed  victa  CaUmi.t 

Heaven  aj^roves 

The  conquering  cause,  the  conquer'd  Cato  loves. 

And  the  fourth,  upon  the  praises  of  Caesar,  says, 

Ei  cuncta  terrarum  suhactaj 
Prieter  atrocem  animum  Catonis.i 
And  conquer'd  all  where'er  his  eagle  flew. 
But  stubborn  Cato  nothing  could  subdue. 

The  master  of  the  choir,  after  having  characterked 
the  greatest  Romans,  ends  thus: 

His  dantemjvra  Catonem.^ 

And  Cato  giving  laws  to  all  the  rest. 

♦  Mart  lib.  vi.  epig,  32.        f  Manil.  Astronomicon,  Mb.  Jr.  ver.B7. 
t  Lucan.  lib.  i.  ver.  121.  §  Hor.  Car.  lib.  ii.od.Lver.  23, 24. 

I  \  irgil,  .£ucid.  lib.  tUL  ver.  670. 


VTE  LAUGH  AND  CRY  FOR  THE  SAME  THING.  281 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

That  we  laugh  and  cry  for  the  same  Things 

W  HEN  we  read  in  history,  that  Antlgonus  wasThedoifk 
very  much  displeased  with  his  son,  for  Presenting  "^.*^JJ3 
him  the  head  of  king  Fyrrhus  his  enemy,  just  killed  wailed  bj 
fighting  against  him,  and  that  seeing  it  he  heartily  ***^'^^*^*^ 
wept  ;*  that  Rene,  duke  of  Lorrain,  also  lamented 
the  death  of  Charles,  duke  of  Burgundy ,t  whom  he 
had  just  defeated,  and  appeared  in  mourning  at  his 
funeral :  and  that,  in  the  battle  of  Auroy t  f  which 
the  count  de  Montfort  obtained  over  Charles  de 
Blois,  his  competitor  for  the  duchy  of  Brittany),  the 
conqueror,  meeting  the  corpse  of  his  enemy,  was 
much  afflicted  at  his  death  }§  we  must  not  presently 
cry  out : 

Et  cost  oven  che  tardmo  ciascuna^ 
Stia  passion  sotto  el  contrario  manto, 
Rkoprey  con  la  visia  hor  chiara,  hor^  bruna,^ 

There  ev*iy  person,  whether  of  joy  or  woe. 
The  pasion  of  his  miDd  can  govern  so, 
As  when  most  griev'd,  to  show  a  visage  clear. 
And  melancholic,  when  best  pleas'd,  appear. 

When  Pompey's  head  was  presented  to  Cassar,  his- 
tory tells  us,  that  he  turned  away  his  &ce,  as  from  a 
saa  and  displeasing  object.  There  had  been  so  long 
a  correspondence  between  them,  in  the  management 
of  the  public  ai&irs,  so  great  a  community  of  for- 
tunes, so  many  mutual  offices,  and  so  near  in  alli- 
ance, that  this  countenance  of  his  ought  not  to  suffer 
under  any  misinterpretation ;  or  to  be  altogether 
suspected  for  fidse  or  counterfeit,  as  this  author  seems 
to  believe : 

♦  Plutarch,  in  the  Life  of  Pyrrhus.        f  Before  Nancy  in  1477* 
X  In  1S64,  in  the  reign  of  Charles  V.  king  of  France. 
J  Eroissart,  vol.  Leap. 228.        ||  Petrarch,  fol.  25,  edic of  1545^ 


282  WE  LAUGH  AND  CRT 


Tutumque  pulavii 


Jam  lomis  esse  socer,  lachrymas  non  sponie  cadenfes 
Effudit^  gemitusque  expressit  pectore  Iceto.* 

■         And  now  he  saw 
Twas  safe  to  be  a  pious  fetlier-in-law, 
He  shed  forc'd  tears,  and  from  a  joyAil  breast. 
Fetched  sighs  and  groans. 

For  though  it  be  true,  that  most  of  our  actions  arc 
deceitful,  and  that  sometimes 

Hceredisjletus  suh  persona  rims  est.\ 

The  heir's  dissembled  tears,  behind  the  skreen      *> 
Could  one  but  peep,  would  joyful  smiles  be  seen.    )' 

Miinkind  Yct,  in  judging  of  these  accidents,  we  are  to  con- 
SialreDr  sider  how  much  our  souls  are  oftentimes  agitated 
passions.  >irith  different  passions.  And,  as  they  say,  that  in 
our  bodies  there  is  a  collection  of  divers  humours, 
of  which,  that  is  the  governing  passion,  which,  ac- 
cording to  the  complexion  we  are  of,  is  conmionly 
most  predominant  in  us ;  so,  though  the  soul  have  in 
it  divers  motions  to  give  it  agitation,  yet  there  must 
be  one  master  of  the  field,  yet  not  with  so  entire  a 
conquest,  but  that  through  the  flexibility  and  incon- 
stancy of  the  soul,  those  of  less  authority  may,  upon 
occasion,  re-assume  their  place,  and  make  a  httle 
sally  in  turn.  Thence  it  is  that  we  see  not  only 
children,  who  simply  follow  nature,  often  laugh  and 
cry  at  the  same  thing ;  but  not  one  of  us  can  boast, 
what  journey  soever  he  may  have  in  hand  that  he  has 
set  his  heart  upon,  but  when  he  comes  to  part  with 
his  family  and  friends,  he  will  find  something  within 
that  ti'oubles  him ;  and  though  he  refrain  his  tears, 
yet  he  puts  foot  in  the  stirrup  with  a  sad  and  cloudy 
countenance.  We  may  further  observe,  that  what- 
ever kindly  flame  have  warmed  the  heart  of  well-bom 
virgins,  yet  they  ai  e  fain  to  be  forced  from  about  their 
mothers'  necks,  to  be  put  to  bed  to  their  husbands  ;. 
whatever  this  boon  companion  is  pleased  to  say : 

*  Lucan.  lib.  ix.  ver.  1037. 

f  Aulas  Gellius  ex  Noctes  Fublii  Mimis,  lib.  xvii.  cap.  H, 


Estne  novis  nupiis  oJtio  Fetmsy  anne  parenium 

Frustrantwrjabis  gaudia  lachrymaliSf 
Uberthn  thalami  (pms  intra  limina  fundunt  f 

Non^  Uame  Dwi^  vera gemumt^  jmmnaLfi 

IXxrs  the  iair  bride  die  sport  so  greatly  dread^ 
'  That  she  takes  on  so,  when  she's  put  to  bed^ 
Her  iiarents  joys  t'allay  with  a  feign'd  tear  ? 
She  does  not  cry  in  earnest,  I  dare  swear. 

So  that  it  is  not  strange  to  lament  the  death  of  aper- 
son  whom  a  man  would  by  no  means  should  be  alive: 
when  I  rattle  my  man,  I  do  it  with  all  the  mettle  I 
have,  and  give  him  no  feigned,  but  hearty  real 
curses ;  but  the  heat  being  over,  if  he  should  stand 
in  need  of  me,  I  should  be  very  ready  to  do.  him 
good ;  for  I  instantly  turn  over  a  new  leaf.  When  I 
call  him  calf  and  coxcomb,  I  do  not  mean  to  entail 
those  titles  upon  him  for  ever ;  neither  do  I  think  I 
give  myself  the  lie  in  calling  him  an  honest  fellow 
preseimy  after.  No  one  quality  engrosses  us  ab- 
stractedly and  universally.  Were  it  not  the  sign  of 
a  fool  to  talk  to  one's  self,  there  would  hardly  be  a 
day  or  hour  wherein  I  might  not  be  heard  to  mutter 
to  m3rself,  and  against  myself.  Wretched  fool  that  I 
am !  And  yet  I  do  not  thmk  that  to  be  my  character. 
He  who  seeing  me  one  while  cold,  and  presently 
very  fond  of  my  wife,  believes  the  one  or  the  other 
to  be  counterfeited,  is  an  ass.  Nero,  taking  leave 
of  his  mother,  whom  he  sent  to  be  drowned,  was 
nevertheless  sensible  of  some  emotion  at  this  fare- 
well, and  was  struck  with  horror  and  pity.  It  is 
said,  that  the  light  of  the  sun  is  not  one  continuous 
thing,  but  that  it  darts  new  rajs  so  quick  one  upon 
another,  diat  we  cannot  perceive  the  intermission : 

Largus  enim  liqaidifons  luminis  (Bthereus  Sol 
Irrigai  assidUe  ccelum  candore  recently 
Suppetil  Qtque  novo  confeUim  bimine  lumen^f 


i.y: 


*  Catull.  de  Comd  Berenices,  aum.  Iziv.  rer.  15* 
f  LucreU  lib.  v.  ver,  282,  &c. 


284  WE  LAUGH  AND  CRT  FOR  TSOS  SAME  THING* 

For  the  (ethereal  sun  that  shines  so  hright, 
Being  a  fountain  large  of  liquid  light, 
With  fresh  rays  sprinkles  still  the  dieerful  sky. 
And  with  new  light  the  light  does  still  supply. 

Just  SO  the  soul  variously  and  imperceptibly  darts  out  I 
her  passions.  I 

Xerxtt  Artabanus  surprising   once  his  nephew  Xerxes, 

parted wuh  c^id  him  for  the  sudden  alteration  of  his  counte- 
joy  and  o-  nancc.     As  he  was  viewing  his  forces  without  num* 
irruh^""  ber,  passing  over  the  Hellespont,  for  the  Grecian 
ih*'"wl  *^  expedition,  his  heart  leaped  with  joy,"  to  see  so  many 
hu^Mt^^  thousands  of  men  under  his  command;  it  also  ap- 
"">•       peared  in  the  gaiety  and  alacrity  of  his  counte-  / 
nance.*     But  lus  thoughts  at  the  same  instants  sug-  / 
gesting  to  him»  that  of  so  many  lives,  in  an  age  at 
most,  there  would  not  be  one  left,  he  knit  his  brows, 
and  grew  sad,  even  to  the  shedding  of  tears. 
The  lovi       We  have  resolutelv  pursued  the  revenge  of  an 
i^  "wpoD  injury  received,  and  felt  a  singular  satisfaction  In  the 
thingi  with  victory :  yet  we  are  sorry,  though  it  is  not  ifbr  the 
Mm*  eyej'  victory  that  we  weep :  there  is  nothing  altered  in 
nor.  with'  that :  but  the  soul  looks  upon  the  thing  wiih  another 
tiw  me    ^y^9  ^^^  represents  it  to  itself  with  another  kind  €i 
b<u«        face :  for  every  thing  has  many  biasses  and  aspects. 
Relations,  old  acquaintances,  and  friendships,  possess  ^ 
our  iuiaginaticm,  and  make  it  tender  for  the  time, 
according  to  their  condition ;  but  the  revolution  is 
so  quick,  that  we  do  not  perceive  it : 

Nil  adeb  fieri  celeri  raiione  videiuTf 

8uam  si  mens  fieri  proponit^  ei  inchoat  itsa* 
cius  ergo  coiimus  quum  res  se  perdet  nlia^ 
Ante  octUos  quorum  inproniptu  natwra  videtw.f 
As  no  one  action  seems  so  swiftly  done. 
As  what  the  mind  as  plann'd,  and  once  begun. 
Tills  observatbn  evidently  proves, 
The  mind  than  other  things  more  swiftly  moves. 

Therefore,  while  we  desire  to  make  a  work  com- 
plete,  and  all  of  a  piece,  we   deceive  oiu-selves. 

*  Hcrodot  lib.  viL  p.  ^56^  457*  f  Lucr.  lib.  iiL  ver.  185,  &c* 


OF  SOLITUDE*  285 

When  Timoleon  laments  the  murder  he  had  com- 
mitted,  after  so  mature  and  generous  deliberation,  h6 
does  not  lament  the  liberty  restored  to  his  country, 
he  does  not  lament  the  tyrant,  but  he  laments  his 
brother :  one  part  of  his  duty  is  performed,  let  us 
give  him  leave  to  perform  the  other. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

Of  Solitude. 

J^ET  us  lay  aside  that  old  comparison  between  the 
active  and  the  solitary  life ;  and  as  for  the  fine  saying 
which  is  made  a  cloke  for  ambition  and  avarice* 
"  That  we  are  not  bom  for  ourselves,  but  for  the 
"  public,"  let  us  boldly  appeal  to  those  who  are  in 

Eublic  af&irs,  let  them  lay  their  hands  upon  their 
earts,  and  then  say  whether,  on  the  contrary,  they 
do  not  rather  aspire  to  titles  and  offices,  and  that 
hurry  of  the  world,  to  make  their  private  advantage 
at  the  public  expense.  The  corrupt  means  by 
which  they  push  tneir  way  in  our  time,  manifestly 
declare  that  their  end  cannot  be  very  good.  Let  us 
then  tell  ambition,  that  it  is  she  herself  who  gives  us 
a  taste  of  solitude ;  for  what  does  she  so  much  avoid 
as  society  ?  What  does  she  so  much  seek  as  elbow- 
room  ?rA  man  may  do  well  or  ill  every  where j)  But 
if  what  Bias  says  be  true,  that  the  greatest  part  is 
the  worst  part;  or  what  the  Preacher  says,  that  there 
is  not  one  good  of  a  thousand : 

Rari  quippe  boni:  mtmero  vix  sunt  totidem^  qnot 
Thebarum  portce,  yel  divitis  osiia  Nih.* 

How  few  good  men  are  number'd  on  this  soil ! 
Scarce  more  than  gates  of  Thebes,  ot  moutiis  of  Nile. 

the  contagion  is  very  dangerous  in  the  crowd. 
*  Jiif .  Bat.  xiii.  ver.  26, 27* 


C( 


286  OF   SOLITUDE. 

J»^a»«-  There  is  a  necessity  for  men  either  to  imitate 
ihe^wkked others,  or  to  hate  them: t  both  are  to  be  avoided; 
'*^'-  the  former,  lest  we  become  like  to  the  wicked,  be- 
cause they  are  many ;  the  latter,  for  fear  of  hating 
the  many,  because  they  are  unlike  us.  And  mer- 
chants  that  go  to  sea  have  reason  to  be  cautious,  that 
those  who  embark  with  them  in  the  same  bottom 
Le  neither  dissolute,  blasphemous,  nor  vicious  other 
ways;  looking  upon  such  society  as  unfortunate, 
^nd  therefore  it  was,  that  Bias  $  pleasantly  said  to 
some,  who,  being  with  him  in  a  dangerous  storm,  im- 
plored the  assistance  of  the  gods,  "  Hold  yoifr 
p  eace,  that  they  may  not  know  you  are  in  my 
company."  And  as  a  more  forcible  example. 
All  uquerque,  viceroy  in  the  Indies,  for  Emanuel 
king  of  Portugal,  bemg  in  extreme  peril  of  ship- 
wreck, took  a  littie  boy  upon  his  shoulders,  for  this 
only  end  ;  that  being  a  sharer  of  their  danger,  his 
inn<  cence  might  serve  to  protect  him,  and  to  recom- 
mei.d  him  to  the  divine  favour,  that  they  might  get 
to  ^hore  :  a  wise  man  may  indeed  live  every  where 
content,  and  be  retired  even  in  the  crowd  of  a 
palace ;  but  if  it  be  left  to  his  own  choice  he  will 
tell  you,  that  he  would  fly  the  very  sight  of  the 
latter;  he  can  endure  it,  if  need  be  ;  but  if  it  be 
left  to  himself,  he  will  choose  the  first.  He  does 
not  think  himself  sufficiently  rid  of  vice,  if  he  must 
yet  contend  with  it  in  other  men :  Charondas 
punished  those  for  ill  men,  who  were  convicted  of 
keeping  ill  company.t  There  is  nothing  so  unso- 
ciable, and  sociable,  as  man ;  the  one  by  his  vice, 
the  other  by  his  nature.  And  Antisthenes,t  in  my 
opinion,  did  not  give  a  satisfiictory  answer,  when  he 

♦  These  reflections  were  a  genuine  translation  from  Seneca,  ep.  7, 
who  has  these  very  words :  "  Necessc  est  aut  imiteris  aut  oderis. 
*<  Utrumque  autem  devitandum  est,  nevelsimiH,  malis  fias,  ^uui 
*^  multi  sunt,  necne  iniroicus  multis,  quia  dissimiles  sunt." 

f  Diog.  Laeft.  in  the  Life  of  Bias,  lib.  i.  sect.  6. 

^  Diodorus  of  Sicily,  lib.  xii.  ch.  4. 

§  Diog.  Laert  in  the  Life  of  Antisthcnes. 


wag  reproached  with  frequenting  ill  company,  by 
saying,  "  That  the  physicians  lived  well  amongst 
•*  the  sick ;" .  for  if  they  contribute  to  the  health  of 
the  sick,  no  doubt  but  by  the  contagion,  continual 
sight  of,  and  familiarity  with  diseases,  they  must  of 
necessity  impair  their  own  health. 

.  ,  Now  the  end  I  suppose  is  all  one,  to  live  at  more  The  aim  ©r 
leisure,  and  at  greater  ease :  but  men  do  not  always  "*'***'*^'^- 
take  the  right  course  to  it ;  for  they  often  think  tliey 
have  taken  leave  of  business,  when  they  have  onlv 
exchanged  one  employment  for  another.     Tliere  is  . 
little  less  trouble  in  governing  a  family,  than  a  whole 
kingdom. ;  wherever  the  mind  is  perplexed,  it  is  in 
W  entire  disorder,  and  domestic  employments  are 
not    less    troublesome    for   being    less    important. 
Moreover,  because  we  have  left  the  court  and  the 
exchange,  we  are  not  rid  of  the  principal  vexations 
of  life : 

-— ■  Ratio^  el  prudentia  cnraSj 
Non  locus  effusi  lat^  maris  arbiter  aufert.* 

Reason  afid  prudence  our  affections  ease. 

Not  tlie  bold  site  tluit  wide  commands  the  seas. 

Our  ambition,  our  avarice,  irresolution,  fears,  and  soiimAs 
inordinate  desires,  do  not  leave  us  when  we  change  fre^'uT* 
our  country ;  frum  ©or 

Et  ^^"'• 

Post  equitem  sedet  atra  aira.f 

And  when  he  rides,  black  Care  sits  close  behind. 

Our  passions  oft  follow  us  even  to  cloisters,  and  phi- 
losopnical  schools;  nor  deserts,  nor  caves,  hair- 
shirts,  nor  fasts,  can  disengage  us  from  them  : 

'  ■  •  .  HrBret  lateri  let  halls  arundo.X 
The  fiital  shaft  sticks  to  the  wounded  side. 

A  person   telling  Socrates,§   that  such   a  one  was 
nothing  improved  by  his  travels,    "  No  wonder,'*  *) 
said  he,  "  tor  he  travelled  along  with  himself*:'' 

♦  Hor.  lib.  i.  epist  11,  ver.  25,  2G.        f  ^-  ^*h.  iii.  ode  1,  vcr.  40. 
if  Virg.  iEneid,  lib.  iv.  vcr.  73.  §  Seoec.  epist.  IQi.       m 


S88  OF  SOXJTtmi:. 

•^  Quid  ternts  alio  caUntes 
Sole  muiamm  f  patria  quis  extil 

Se  qvoque  Jugit  /* 

To  change  our  native  soil,  why  should  we  ruOj 
And  seek  one  warmed  by  a  fiercer  sun  ? 
For  who  m  exile  ever  yet  could  find. 
He  went  abroad,  and  left  himself  behind? 

If  a  man  do  not  first  discharge  both  himself  and  his 
mind,  of  the  burden  with  which  he  is  oppressed, 
motion  will  but  make  it  press  the  harder :  as  in  a 
ship,  the  lading  is  of  less  encumbrance,  when  it  is 
well  settled.  You  do  a  sick  man  more  harm  than 
good,  in  removing  him  from  place  to  place ;  you 
confirm  the  disease  by  stirring  him,  as  stakes  sink 
deeper  into  the  earth,  by  being  moved  up  and  down. 
And,  therefore,  it  is  not  enough  to  be  remote  from 
the  public  ;  it  is  not  enough  to  shifl  the  situation;  a 
man  must  fly  from  the  popular  dispositions  that  have 
taken  possession  of  his  soul,  he  must  lay  himself 
aside,  and  come  to  himself  again : 

—  Rupijam  vinailay  dicas. 
Nam  ei  bictaia  cants  nodum  airipit :  attamen  illi 
Cum  fugitj  a  collo  trahitur  pars  langa  caieruB.f 

Thou'lt  pajj  perhaps,  that  tbou  hast  broke  the  chain. 
Why,  so  the  dog  has  gnaw'd  the  knot  in  'twain 
That  ty'd  him  there;  but  as  he  flies,  he  feels 
The  ponderous  chain  still  rattling  at  his  heels. 

We  still  carry  our  fetters  along  with  us ;  it  is  not  an 
absolute  liberty ;  we  still  look  back  upon  what  we 
hsLVC  left  behind  us  ;  our  heads  are  full  of  it : 

— —  Nisi  purgatum  est  pectus^  <piCB  pnplia  ndus 
Atque  periada  tunc  ingraiis  insinuandum  ? 
Quantce  conscindunt  hominum  cupedinis  acres 
Solliciium  ainse,  quantise  periiide  iimcres  ? 
Quidve  superlia,  spitrciltesj  petulantia^  quantas 
Efficiunt  ci'OdeSy  quid  luxus,  desidiesquePX 

Unless  the  mind  be  purg'd,  wliat  conflicts  dire. 
And  dangers  will  not  ev'ry  thought  inspire  ? 

*  Hor.  lib.  ii.  ode  16»  vcr.  18^  &c 

f  Persios,  sat.  v.  ver.  158,  &c.  %  Lucret.  lib.  v.  ver.  44^—49. 


TV  ungrateCul  man,  how  many  Utter  cares 
Incessant  gall,  and  then  how  many  fears  ? 
.  What  horrid  massacres  from  pride  ensue. 
From  sloth,  lust,  petulance,  and  from lux'iy  too? 

Our  disease  is  in  the  noind,  which  cannot  escape  in  what 
from  itself:  triicsoii. 

ta4e  con- 
la  culpa  est  ammus,  qui  se  turn  effugit  uttquam.*  '"^* 

Still  in  the  mind  the  fault  doth  lie^ 
That  never  from  itaelf  can  fly. 

and  is  therefore  to  be  called  in,  and  contracted. 
This  is  the  true  solitude,  and  such  as  may  be  enjoyed 
even  in  populous  cities,  and  the  courts  of  lungs } 
though  more  commodiously  apart. 

Now  if  we  will  attempt  to  live  alone,  and  to  get 
rid  of  company,  let  us  so  order  it,  that  our  conten* 
ment  may  be  in  our  own  power.  Let  uS  dissolve  aU; 
obligations  that  attach  us  to  others :  let  us  be  so  far 
our  own  masters,  that  we  may  live  alone  in  good 
earnest,  and  live  at  our  ease  too. 

Stilpo  having  escaped  from  the  fire  that  consumed  ConstMcy 
the  city  where  he  lived,  by  which  his  wife,  children,  «n«he.«n*<w 
with  all  his  substance  were  destroyed,  Demetrius  T  ""*^ 
Poliorcetes,  seeing  his  countenance  not  dismayed  in 
so  great  a  ruin  of  his  country,  asked  him  if  he  had 
received  no  loss  ?t  To  which  he  made  ansWer,  No ; 
and  that,  God  be  thanked,  nothing  was  lost  of  his. 
This  also  was  the  meaning  of  the  philosopher  Antis- 
thenes,  when  he  pleasantly  said,t  that  men  should 
only  fbrnish  themselves  with  such  things  as  could 
float  on  the  water,  and  swim  with  the  owner  to 
escape  a  shipwreck  v^nd  certainly  a  wise  man  loses 
nothing,  if  he  save  but  himsel^^hen  the  city  of  Nola 
was  ruined  by  the  barbarians,  Paulinus,  who  was 
bishop  of  that  place,  having  there  lost  all  he  had, 
and  peine  himself  a  prisoner,  prayed  after  this  man- 
ner,S  ^*  X)  Ix>rd,  defend  me  £rom  being  sensible  c^ 

*  Hor.  lib.  L  epist  14.  f  Senec  epist  9. 

X  Diogenes  Laert.  in  the  Life  of  Antisthenes. 
§  Augustin.  de  Civitate  Dei,  lib.  i.  ^cfp.  xviiL 

vot.  I.       U 


( 


$90  0r  soLituDir. 

^^  ^fais  loss ;  for  thou  knowest,  they  have  yet  touched 
^<  nothing  that  I  could  call  mine ;"  the  riches  that 
made  him  rich,  and  the  goods  that  made  him  good, 
remained  still  entire. 
Tbetrac       Hiig  it  Is  to  make  choice  of  treasures  that  can 
^!i|[^'^  seci^e  themselves  from  injury,  and  to  hide  them  iif 
sBu      a  place  where  no  one  can  enter,  and  which  cannot 
^^^  be  betrayed  by  any  but  ourselves.    Wives,  children, 
goods,  and  especially  health,  are  means  of  comfort ; 
but  we  are  not  to  set  our  hearts  upon  them,  as  that 
they  become  absolutely  necessary  to  our  happiness : 
we  must  reserve  a  back-room,  wholly  our  own,  and 
entirely  free,  wherein  to  fix  our  liberty,  our  principal 
retreat  and  solitude.     Here  must  we  have  converse  | 
wiUi  oursdv^,  and  so  privately,  that  no  knowledge  ' 
or  communication  of  any  foreign  concern,  be  id-  ( 
mitted ;  there  to  talk  and  to  laugh,  as  if  without 
wife,  duldren,  goods,  train,  or  attendance,  to  the 
end,  that  when  we  happen  to  lose  any  or  all  of  these 
it  may  be  no  new  thing  to  us  to  be  without  them. 
We  have  a  mind  pliable  of  itself,  that  is  capable  of 
getting  company,  has  wherewithal  to  att^k  and  to 
defend,  to  receive  and  to  give :  let  us  not  then  fear 
in  diis  solitude,  to  languid  under  an  uncomfortable 
idleness : 

In  solis  sis  tibi  iurba  tocis.* 
.  in  solitary  places  be 
Unto  thyself  good  company. 

M«n  pat  Virtue  is  satisfied  with  herself,  without  discipline, 
{J|J|^'j^*|^y.without  words,^  without  effects.  In  our  ortUnary 
f«ir  a  thou-  actions,  there  is  not  one  of  a  thousand  that  con* 
SUf  di'^^^™®  ourselves  *^  he  that  thou  seest  scrambling  up 
the  ruins  of  that  wail,  furious,  and  out  of  Us  mind, 
against  whom  so  many  muskets  are  levelled;  and 
that  other,  all  over  scars,  pale,  and  fiunting  with 
hunger,  and  yet  resolved  rather  to  die  than  to  open 
his  gate  to  him,  dost  thou  think  that  diese  men  are 
there  upon  their  own  account  ?  No ;  perhaps^  in  the 

*  .TibolL  Kb.  W.  ekg.  xis.  ver.  12.. 


OF  SOLITUDE.  291 

behalf  of  one  whom  they  never  sawv  and  that  never 
concerns  himself  what  becomes  of  them,  but  lies 
waUowing  ^e  while  in  sloth  and  pleasure:  this 
other  slavering,  blear-eyed,  slovenly  fellow,  that  thou 
seest  come  out  of  his  study  after  midnight,  dost  thou 
think  he  has  been  tumbling  over  books,  to  learn  how 
to  become  a  better  man,  wiser,  and  more  content  i 
No  such  matter,  he  will  there  end  his  days,  but  he 
will  teach  posterity  the  measiu'e  of  Plautus's  verses, 
and  the  orthography  of  a  Latin  word:  who  does 
not  voluntarily  exchange  his  health,  his  repose,  and 
his  very  life,  for  reputation  and  glory,  the  most 
useless,  frivolous,  and  false  coin,  that  is  current 
amongst  us?  Our  own  death  does  not  sufficiently 
terrify  us,  but  we  moreover  charge  ourselves  with 
that  of  our  wives,  children,  and  family:  our  own 
affiurs  do  not  afibrd  us  anxiety  enough,  but  we  also 
meddle  with  those  of  our  neighbours  and  friends,  to 
crack  our  brains,  and  torment  us : 

Fahf  quenquamne  hommem  in  animum  insiituere,  aui 
Pararey  quod  sii  cariuSy  qmm  ipse  est  sili  f* 

Alas !  what  mortal  will  be  so  unwise. 
Any  thing  dearer  than  himself  to  prize  ? 

Solitude  seems  to  me  to  be  the  most  becomin|^Towboa 
and  rational,  in  such  as  have  already  employed  their  J^JJl^^"^** 
most  active  and  flourishing  age  in  the  world's  ser-  < 
vice ;  according  to  the  example  of  Thales.  ^  It  is 
enough  to  have  lived  for  others,  let  us  at  least  live 
out  the  small  remnant  of  life  for  ourselves ;  let 
us  now  call  in  our  thoughts  and  intentions  to  our- 
selves, and  consult  our  own  ease :  it  is  no  light  thing 
to  make  a  sure  retreat ;  there  will  be  enough  to  do, 
without  a  mixture  of  other  enterprises.  Smce  God 
gives  us  leisure  to  prepare  fi>r  our  remove,  let  us 
make  ready,  truss  our  baggage,  take  leave  betimes  of 
the  company;  let  us  disentangle  ourselves  from 
those  violent  importunities  that  engage  us  elsewhere^ 

•  Ter.  Adelph.  act.  l/scsn.  L  w.  IS,  14. 
V2 


292  CTF  60LITUI>£# 

and  alienate  us  from  ourselves :  we  must  bre^  the 
knot  of  our  obligations,  how  strong  soever,  and  no 
longer  love  this  or  that,  but  espouse  nothing  beside 
ourselves :  that  is  to  say,  let  tlie  remainder  be  oia: 
own ;  but  not  so  joined,  and  so  close  rivetted,  as  not 
to  be  forced  away  witliout  flaying  us,  and  tearing 
away  part  of  us  with  it. 
Of  what        The  greatest  thing  in  the  world  is  jR)r  a  person  to  (\ 
Mc^uis  know  that  he  is  his  own  master.    J*  is  time  to  weas  ] I 
for  a  man  Qurselves  from  society,   when  we  cannot  add  any 
tklt'iieu  thing  to  it ;  and  he  that  is  not  in  a  condition  to  lend 
bu  owD     must  take  care  not  to  borrow.    Our  forces  and  abi- 
"'**^'^'     lities  fail  us;  let  us  call  them  in,  and  keep  them  to 
^ourselves:   he  that  can,  within  himself,   obliterate 
<and  jumble  together  the  offices  of  so  many  friend* 
.«hips^  and  of  society,  let  him  do  it :  in  this  decay  cS' 
.nature,   which   rendem  him  useless,    burdensome, 
.and  troublesome  to  others,  let  him  take  care  not  to 
become  useless,   burdensome,  and  uneasy  to  hinv- 
self :^  let  him  sooth  and  caress  himself;  and,  above 
all  things,  be  sure  to  govern  himself  with  awe  and 
reverence  to  his  reason  and  conscience,  so  as  to  be 
ashamed  to  make  a  false  step  in  their  presence.     Ra* 
rum  est  enhn^  ut  satis  se  quisque  vereatur  ;*     **  For 
*'  it  is  rarely  seen  that  men  have  respect  and  reve- 
"  rence  enough  for  themselves.'*    Socrates  says,  that 
youth  are  to  cause  themselves  to  be  instructed,  grown 
men  to  exercise  themselves  in  well  doing,  and  old 
men  to  retire  from  all  civil  and  mihtai^y  employments, 
living  at  their  own  discretion,  without  the  obligation 
to  any  office. 
tuc  consti-     There  are  some  complexions  more  proper  for  these 
SogrmtfdpJ'ccepts  of  retirement  than  others.  '  Such  as  are  <^  a 
for  retire;  moist  and  cold  constitution,  and  of  a  tender  will  and 
"*"'*       affection,   and  which  is  not  easily  subdued  or  em- 
ployed, as  I  am,   both  by  nature  and  reason,  vriH 
sooner  incline  to  this  advice  than  active  and  bu^ 
souls,  which  embrace  all,  engage  in  all,  and  are  liot 

*  FythagonMU 


•^p  s62.rri7bi.  Q93 

upon  frvery  tlung;  who  bfler,  present,  and' give 
Chemseh'es  up  to  every  occasion.  We  are  to  serve 
ourselves  with  these  accidental  and  extraneous  things^ 
so  far  as  they  are  pleasant  to  us,  but  by  no  means  to 
lay  our  principal  foundation  there.  This  is  no  true 
one,  neither  nature  nor  reason  allow  it  so  to  be,  and 
why  therefore  should  we,  contrary  to  their  laws, 
make  <mr  own  contentment  a  slave  to  the  power  of 
another  ?  To  anticipate  also  the  accidents  of  tou 
tune,  and  to  deprive  ourselves  of  those  advantages 
we  have  in  our  own  hands,  as  several  have  dcwe  out 
of  devotion,  and  some  philosophers  by  reason ;  to 
serve  a  man's  self,  to  lie  hard,  to  put  out  our  own 
icyes,  throw  wealth  into  the  river,  and  to  seek  out 
grief  (some  by  the  uneasiness  and  misery  of  this  life, 
to  acquire  bliss  in  another ;  others,  by  laying  them-^ 
selves  low,  to  avoid  the  danger  of  a  new  fall),  are 
^ts  of  an  excessive  virtue.  The  stoutest  and  most 
obstinate  natures  render  even  their  secret  retire^ 
ments  glorious  and  exemplary: 

^Tula  et  parvida  laudo^ 

Cum  res  deficiunt ;  salis  inter  villa  fortisp 
Verumy  uoi  quid  melius  contingit  et  unctiuSy  idem 
Vos  saperey  et  sohs  mo  bene  vivere^  quorum 
Cmtsptdiur  nitidis  Jundata  pecurda  viUisJ^ 
TYm  I,  when  better  entertainiQents  fail. 
Bravely  cooM^end  a  plain  aad  frugal  meal ; 
On  cheaper  swppers,  show  tvyself  full  wise ; 
But  if  some  dainties  more  luxurious  rise, 
I  eall  those  wise  and  Ujest,  and  only  those^ 
Whose  laige  estate  their  splendid  mansion  shows* 

A  great  deal  less  would  serve  my  turn  well  enouglu 
It  IS  enough  for  me,  under  fortune's  favour,  to  pre-^ 
pare  myself  for  her  di^ace,  and,  being  at  my  ease, 
to  represent  to  myself,  as  far  as  my  imagination  can 
stretch,  the  ill  to  come ;  as  we  do  at  justs,  and  tilt^ 
iT^9  where  we  counteifeit  a  war  in  the  greatest  calm 

«  Hor.  Ubu  i.  epist.  15,  yer#  ta— 4& 


994  or  soLiTtms. 

of  peace.    I  do  not  think  Arcesilaus^  the  philoMV 

Eher  a  whit  the  more  extravagant^  for  knowing  that 
e  made  use  of  gold  and  silver  vessels,  when  his  for- 
tune allowed  him  so  to  do ;  but  have  a  better  opinion 
of  him,  than  if  he  had  denied  himself  what  he  used 
with  liberality  and  moderation, 
d^  "^      ^  ^^^  ^^^  utmost  limits  of  natural  necessity,  and 
M^itici.  considering  the  poor  man  beffging  at  my  door  often* 
times  more  locund  and  healthy  toui  I  am,  I  put  my- 
self in  his  place,  and  attempt  to  dress  my  mind  after 
his  mode,  runninff,  in  like  manner,  over  other  ex« 
amples;  thou^  I  fancy  death,  poverty,  contempt, 
ana  sickness  treading  on  my  heels;  I  easily  resoiye 
not  to  be  afraid  of  what  one,  so  much  my  inferior, 
bears  with  so  much  patience,  and  am  not  willing  to 
believe  that  a  less  understanding  can  do  more  than  a 
greater,  or  that  argument  can  do  as  much  as  custom : 
and  knowing  how  trifling  these  accidental  conve- 
niences are,  I  do  not  forget,  in  the  height  of  all  my 
enjoyments,  to  make  my  chief  prayer  to  Almighty 
God,  that  he  will  please  to  render  me  content  with 
mysdf,  and  the  condition  wherein  I  am.    I  see  seve- 
ral young  men«  very  gay  and  frolicksome,  who  ne- 
vertheless keep  a  heap  of  pills  in  their  trunks  at  home, 
to  take  when  the  rheum  snail  seize  them,  which  they 
fear  so  much  the  less,  because  they  think  they  have 
a  remedy  at  hand.    Every  one  should  do  the  same ; 
and,  moreover,  if  they  fina  themselves  subject  to  some 
more  violent  disease,  should  furnish  themselves  with 
such  medicines  as  may  benumb  and  stupify  the  part. 
What  oc       The  employment  a  man  should  choose  for  such  a 
^p^^|.  life,  ought  neither  to  be  laborious  nor  tedious,  other- 
ivyiif^' wise  it  is  to  no  purpose  at  all  to  be  retired:   and 
this  depends  upon  evenr  one^s    particular   taste; 
mine  has  no  manner  of   bias  to  husbandry,   and 
such  as  love  it  ought  to  apply  themselves  to  it  with 
moderation : 

«  Oiog.  iMrt.  in  the  Life  pf  Arcenlaus,  lib.  br.  $ect.  39, 


fJonofiiur  sili  res,  mmsesulmUtererdmsJ^ 

A  man  should  to  himaetf  his  busioess  fi^ 
But  not  to  servile  dnidgeiy  submit 

Husbandry  is  otherwise  a  very  servile  emjdoyment, 
as  SaUust  tells  us ;  though  some  parts  oi  it  are  less 
so  than  othere,  as  the  eare  of  gardens,  wUdi  Xeno* 
phon  attributes  to  Cyrus  j  and  a  mean  may  be  found 
out  between  that  low  and  sordid  applicafiKm,  so  fiiU 
of  solicitude,  which  is  seen  in  men  \rao  make  it  their 
entire  business  and  study,  and  that  stupid  and  ex* 
traordinaiy  negligence  letting  all  things  go  at  xaiv 
4om: 

^-^^DemocrUi  pecus  edit  a^ellos^ 
Cultaque,  dumperegr^  est  animus  sme  carport  veba.f 

Democritus'  cattle  spoils  his  fruits  and  ooqi^ 
Whilst  he  aloft  on  fimc/s  i¥mgs  is  born. 

But  let  us  bear  what  advice  the  younger  Fliny  with  wh«i 
gives  his  £riend  Cornelius  Rufust  jgijpon  the  subject ^<^.^i>7 
of  solitude :  I  a<|vise  thee,  iQ  tUe  profound  but  plenr^M^^^ 
tiful  retirement  wherein  thou  art,  to  leave  to  thy^eMirt. 
servants  the  care  of  thy  husbandry,  and  to  addict 
thyself  to  the  study  of  letters,  in  order  to  extract 
from  thence  someUung  that  may  be  for  ever  thii^^ 
own.     By  which  he  means  reputation ;  a  humour 
like  Cicero's,  who  says,  that  he  would  employ  his 
solitude  and  retirement  from  public  affiurs  to  acquire 
by  his  wtiiigB  iui  immortal  lite : 


Vst/ueadeShe 

Scire  iuumfdhUesi,  nUi  ie  scire  hofi  sciat  alter  f§ 

Must  thou  thy  knowledge  then  be  fore'd  to  own 
Useless  to  thee,  unless  to  odien  known? 

It  appears  to  be  reason,  when  a  man  talks  of  re^ 
tiring  from  the  world,  that  he  should  look  quite  oiic 
^himself.    These  do  it  but  by  halves.    Th^desigxi 


•  Hot.  epist  L  lib.  I  ver.  19. 

n>id.  ^te.  1%  lib.  I  ver.  12,  IS. 

In  epist.  S,  lib.  L  to  Caninius  Rufus^ 
jf  ten.  saL  jii  Ter.  26,  87f 


I 


2d6  OF  SOLITUDB. 

well  enough  for  themselves,  it  is  true,  when  thcj 
shall  be  no  more  in  it ;  but  still  thejr  pretend  to  ex- 
tract the  fruits  of  that  design  from  the  world,  though 
absent  from  it,  bj  a  supposition  ridiculously  cotitra- 
dictory. 
What  is  to     The  imagination  tyf  those  who  seek  solitude  upon 
6i  the^ISu*^^  account  of  devotion,  filling  their  hopes  with  ccr* 
tode  which  taitity  of  diviuc  promises  in  the  Other  life,  is  much 
foMhl'^e^we  rationdly  founded.     They  propose  to  them* 
of  devo.    fielveS'God,  an  infinite  object  in  goodness  and  power* 
**""'        The  soul  hae  there  wherewithal,  at  full  liberty,  to 
satiate  her  desires.     Afflictions  and  pains  turn  to 
their  advantage,  while  they  are  employed  in  the  ac- 
quisition of  health,  and  joys  everla$ting.    Death  is 
to  be  wished  for,  as  it  is  the  passage  to  so  perfect  a 
condition.    The  severity  of  the  rules  they  impose 
upon  themselves  is  soon  soflened  by  custom,  and 
their  carnal  appetites  damped  and  subdued  by  re- 
sisting them ;  ror  they  are  only  supported  by  use 
and  exercise.    This  sole  end,  therefore,  viz.   an- 
other happy  and  immortal  life,  justly  merits  that 
we  should  abandon  the  pleasures  and  convenience^ 
of  this.    And  he  that  can  really  and  constantly  in- 
flame his  soul  with  the  ardour  of  his  lively  faith  and 
hope,  secures  to  himself  in  this  solitude  the  mostv6* 
hiptuou^  and  delicious  life  that  can  be  enjoyed. 
The  deflci-     Neither  the  end,  then,  nor  the  means  of  this  advice 
Swicilof  Pliny's,*  pleases  me,  for  we  often  Ml  out  of  the 
.'•  ad.  frying-pan  into  the  fire.   This  book«work  is  as  painful 
as  any  otiier,  and  as  great  an  enemy  to  healthy  which 
ought  to  be  the  chief  care  of  every  man ;  neither 
ought  a  man  to  be  lulled  with  the  jpdeasure  of  it, 
which  »  the  same  that  destroys  the- frugal,  the  aya*' 
ricious,  the  voluptuous,  and  the  ambitious  man.  The 
wise  give  us  cautioq  enough  to  beware  of  the  trea- 
chery of  our  desires,  and  to  distinguish  true  and  ge- 
nuine pleasures  ^om  «uch  as  are  mixed  and  compli- 

^  *  Viz.  The  advice  of  PliHy  imd  Cicero,  Chat  we  should  quit  bu- 
liness,  and  apply  to  study,  m  order  to  get  immprt^  fame  by  some 
pomposition. 


▼ke. 


OP  SOLITUDE.  29? 

cated  with  great  pain*  For  the  greatest  part  of  plea- 
sures, say  they,  tickle  and  caress,  only  to  strangle 
us,  like  those  thieves  the  Egyptians  called  Philetas;^ 
and  we  should  have  care  of  drinking  too  much  when  ^ 
we  have  the  head  ache  :  but  pleasure,  to  deceive  us, 
inarches  before,  and  conceals  her  train.  Eooks  are 
pleasant;  but  if  by  too  much  conversing  with  them 
we  impair  our  health,  and  spoil  our  good  humour, 
two  of  the  best  enjoyments  we  have,  let  us  give  it 
over  and  quit  them ;  I  for  my  part  am  one  of  those 
who  think  that  no  fruit  derived  fi:om  them  can  re- 
compense so  great  a  loss.  As  men  who  feel  them- 
selves weaken^  by  a  long  series  of  indisposition  give 
themselves  up  at  last  to  the  mercy  of  medicine,  and 
prescribe  to  themselves  certain  rules  of  living,  which 
they  are  never  more  to  transgress  ;  so  he  who  retires, 
weary  of  and  disgusted  with  the  common  way  of 
living,  ought  to  model  this  new  one  he  enters  into 
by  the  rules  of  reason.  He  ought  to  have  taken  . 
leave  of  all  sorts  of  labour,  what  face  soever  it  bears, 
to  shake  off  ail  those  passions  in  general,  which 
disturb  the  tranquillity  of  body  and  soul,  and  to 
choose  the  way  that  best  suits  with  his  own  humour  : 

Unusqidsque  sua  noverit  ire  via.\ 

We  each  know  best  to  what  we  are  incllDed. 

In  husbandry,  study,  hunting,  and  all  other  exer- 
cises, men  are  to  proceed  to  the  utmost  limits  of 
pleasure ;  but  must  take  heed  of  engaging  further, 
where  begins  a  mixture  of  trouble.  We  are  to  re- 
serve so  much  occupation  and  employment  only,  as 
is  necessary  to  keep  us  in  breath,  and  to  defend  us 
from  the  mconvemences,  which  the  other  extreme, 
of  a  dull  and  stupid  laziness,  brings  along  with  it. 

There  are  some  sterile,  knotty  sciences,  and  chiefly  certMud- 
hammered  out  for  the  crowd;  let  such  be  left  to whSh thL* 


them  wlio  are  engaged  in  the  public  service ;  I,  for  ^^^ 
ray  part,  care  for  no  other  books,  but  either  such  as  bamNciir 

^  Seneca,  epist.  51.  \  Fropert.  lib.  ii.  eleg.  xxv.  yef.  S8. 


298  OF  SOLITUDE. 

are  pleasant  and  easy,  to  delight  me,  or  those  that 
comfort  and  instruct  me  how  to  regulate  my  life  and 
deatli : 

— TacUum  sybms  inter  repiare  salulreSf 
Curantem  quid^id  digmsm  sapiente  bonoque  esi»* 

Silently  meditatiiig  in  the  groves. 

What  best  a  wise  and  honest  man  behoves* 

Wiser  men  may  carve  to  themselves  k  repose  wholly 
spiritual,  as  they  have  great  force  and  vigour  of 
mind ;  but  for  me,  who  have  not  an  extraordinary 
soul,  I  find  it  very  necessary  to  support  myself  with 
bodily  conveniences;  and  age  having  of  late  de* 
prived  me  of  those  pleasures  that  were  most  to  my 
fancy,  I  whet  my  appetite  to  those  that  remain,  and 
are  more  suitable  to  this  other  season.  We  ought  to 
take  fast  hold  of  the  pleasures  of  life,  which  our 
years,  one  aHer  another,  snatch  away  £rmn  us  ( 

-^— C!tfr/^9itu5  dtttcia ;  noslrum  est 
Quodviuis:  cims,  et  manes,  eifabulajies,\ 

Let  us  enjoy  life's  sweets,  for  shortly  we. 
Ashes,  pale  ghosts,  and  iables,  all  snail  b^. 

Glory  «iid  Now  as  to  gloiy,  the  end  that  Pliny  and  Cicerp 
iSSm '"t?  propose  to  us,  I  am  &r  from  putting  it  to  the  ac- 
^ooonpa  .  ^^^^^ .  ijj^  ambition  is  the  most  contrary  quality  to 
solitude ;  and  glory  and  repose  are  so  inconsistent, 
that  they  cannot  possibly  inhabit  \xi  one  and  the  same 
place.  In  my  opinion,  these  hav^  only  their  arms 
and  legs  disengaged  from  the  prowd,  their  affections 
remaining  attached  to  it  mor^  than  ever : 

Tun\  vetule,  aurkuUs  alienis  cottigis  escas  f  % 
Dost  tbou^  old  dotard,  at  these  years, 
Steal  scraps  of  verse  for  others  ears  ? 

They  are  only  retired  to  take  a  better  le?^p^  and,  by 
9,  stronger  motion,  to  m^ke  the  greater  push  intp 
the  crowd.     Will  you  see  how  they  shoot  short? 

*  Hon  lib.  i.  epist.  iv.  ver.  4, 5.      f  Persius,  ^t.  v.  ver.  151,  kc^ 
X  Ibid.  sat.  i.  ver.  2^. 


OF  SOLITUDE.  299 

Let  US  put  into  the  balance  the  advice  of  two  philo- 
sophers of  two  very  different  sects,*  writing,  the 
one  to  Idomeneus,  the  otiher  to  Lucilius,  their  mends, 
to  draw  them  to  solitude,  from  worldly  honours,  and 
the  administration  of  public  afiairs.  You  have,  say 
they,  hitherto  lived  swimming  and  floating;  come 
now,  and  die  in  the  harbour :  you  have  given  the 
former  part  of  your  life  to  the  light,  give  what  re« 
mains  to  the  shade.  It  is  impossibte  to  give  over 
business,  if  you  do  not  quit  we  fruit  of  it :  there- 
fore disengage  ^^ourselves  from  all  QQUcem  for  ^me 
and  glory.  It  is  to  be  feared,  the  lustre  of  your 
former  actions  will  throw  too  much  light  upon  you, 
and  follow  you  into  your  most  private  retreat :  quit, 
with  other  pleasures,  that  which  proceeds  from  the 
approbation  of  another :  and  as  to  your  knowledge 
and  partis,  never  concern  yourselves,t  they  will  not 
lose  their  effect,  if  yourselves  be  ever  the  better  for 
them.  Remember  nim,  who  being  asked,  '^  Why  he 
*^  took  so  much  pains  in  an  art,t  that  could  come  to 
**  the  knowledge  of  but  few  persons  ?"  **  A  few 
"  are  enough  for  me,"  replied  ne,  "  I  have  enough 
^^  of  one,  I  have  enough  of  never  a  one."  He  said 
true,  you  and  a  companion  are  theatre  enough  for 
one  another,§  or  you  for  yourself.  t|  Be  you  one  to 
the  whole  people,  and  the  whole  people  but  one  to 
you.f  It  is  an  unworthy  ambition  for  a  man  tx} 
think  to  derive  glory  from  his  sloth  and  privacy :  you 
are  to  do  like  the  beasts  of  chase,**  who  put  out 
the  track  at  the  entrsmce  into  their  den.  You  are 
no  more  to  concern  yourselves  what  the  world  says 
of  you,  but  what  you  are  to  say  of  yourselves :  re- 
tire within  yourselves,  but  first  prepare  for  your  re* 

*  Epicunu  and  Seneca.    See  Seneca,  ep.  xxL 

f  '*  Cur  ego,  inqui9,  urta  didici  ?  Non  est  quod  timeas  ne  operam 

*' perdideris :  Tibi  didicisti.'*     Seneca,  epist.?. 
^  Senec  ep.  7.  §  Id.  tbid» 

II  **  Satis  magnum  alter  alteri  theatrum  fimius."    This  is  f^t 

Epicurus  wrote  to  one  of  his  friends^ 

f  Seneca  ascribes  this  saying  to  Democritus,  ep.  7. 
♦*  Seneca,  cp.  68. 


SOO  AN  OBSERVATION  CONCEROTNG  CICERO. 

ccption..*  It  were  a  folly  to  trust  yottrselves  ill  yotir 
own  hands,  if  you  cannot  govern  yourselves  :t  ^ 
man  may  as  well  miscarry  alone,  as  in  company  i 
till  you  have  become  such  persons,  before  whom 
you  dare  not  trip,  and  have  conceived  a  respect  fot 
yourselves.  Versentur  species  honest  a  animo  :X  **  Let 
•*  just  and  honest  things  be  still  represented  to  the 
**  mind/'  Present  continually  to  your  imagination^ 
Cato,  Phocion,  and  Aristides,  in  whose  presence 
fools  themselves  would  hide  their  faults  ;  and  make 
them  controllers  of  all  your  intentions.  Should 
they  deviate  anywhere,  your  respect  to  them  wiH 
afiain  set  you  right ;  they  will  keep  you  in  this  way 
OT  being  contented  with  yourselves;  to  borrow 
nothing  of  any  but  from  yourselves ;  to  stop  and  fix 
your  souls  in  certain  limited  thoughts,  wherein  they 
may  please  themselves,  and  having  understood  the 
true  and  real  goods,  which  men  the  more  enjoy  the 
more  they  understand  them,  to  rest  satisfied,  without 
desire  for  the  enjoyfnent  or  prolongation  of  life  op 
fiime.  This  is  ihe  precept  of  genuine  philosophy, 
not  of  a  boasting  and  prating  philosophy,  such  as 
that  of:  th6  two  first-S 


The  ambi- 
tion of  CI 
ceroand 
PliDy. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

An  Observation  concerning  Cicero^  Sfc. 

One  word  more,  by  way  of  comparison  between 
this  couple.     There  are  to  be  gathered  out  of  the 

*  Seneca»  ep.  68. 

f  **  Plrodest  sine  dubio  custodem  sibi  imposuisse,  et  habere  qiieni 
**  reroidasy  quern  interesse  tuis  ct^tationibus  jodices.  OiMiia 
**  nobis  mala  nolitudo  persuadet.  Cum  jam  profeceris  ut  sit  tibi 
*<  etiam  tui  reverentia,  licebit  dimlttas  psdagogum.  Interim  te 
**  aliquorum  auctoritate  custodi.  Aut  Cato  me  sit,  aut  Scipio,  bu% 
**  Lseiius,  aut  cujus  intenrenta  perditi  quoque  homines vida  supprime^ 
*<  rent,  dum  te  efficis  coram  quo  peccare  non  audit.''    Se^ec*  ep.  25* 

%  Cicero,  Tusc.  Quest,  lib.  ii.  cap.  12. 

i  Pliny  die  younger,  and  Cicero. 


AK  OBSBRVATIOK  COKCERNIKG  CICERO«  801 

ipi^rlthigs  of  Cicero,  and  this  younger  Pliny  (who,  in 
my  opinion,  little  resembles  his  uncle  in  his 
humour),  infinite  testimonies  of  a  nature  beyond 
measure  ambitious,  and  amongst  others,  this  for  one^ 
that  they  both,  in  the  £ice  of  all  the  world,  solicited 
the  historians  of  their  time,*  not  to  forget  diem  iu 
their  memoirs ;  and  fortune,  as  if  in,  spite,  has  trans* 
mitted  the  vanity  of  those  requests  upon  record 
down  to  the  present  age,  and  has  long  since  damned 
the  histories* 

But  this  exceeds  all  meanness  of  spirit,  in  persons  To  wi«t 
©f  such  quality  as  they  were,  to  think  to  denve  any  ^1  Mr* 
great  renown  from  babbling  and  prating ;  even  by  piiDyiF^ 
the  publishing  of  their  private  letters  to  their  friends,  ^^^^ 
so  that  as  some  of  them  were  never  sent,  the  oppor-  were  pi*, 
tunity  being  lost,  they  nevertheless  exposed  them  to  *"^^^' 
the  light,  with  this  worthy  excuse,  that  they  were 
unwilfing  their  labours  and  lucubrations  should  be 
lost.     Was  it  not  verj  well  becoming  two  consgls  of 
Rome,  sovereign  magistrates  of  the  republic  that  com- 
manded the  world,  to  spend  their  time  in  contriving 
quaint  and  elegant  letters,  thence  to  gain  the  repu- 
tation of  being  masters  of  their  own  mother  tongue  ? 
What  could  a  pitiful  schoolmaster  have  done  worse,  / 
who  by  such  a  knowledge  gets  his  living  ? 

If  the  acts  of  Xenophon  and  Caesar,  had  not  very  why  xe. 
far  transcended   their  eloquence,  I  scarce  beUeve  "^'p'"®'""* 
they  would  ever  have  taken  the  pains  to  have  writ  wrotiTtheir 
them.    They  made  it  their  business  to  recommend  J^^^"  *••*•■ 
not  their  speeches,  but  their  actions. 

*  Cicero  writing  to  Lucceius,  ep.  12,  lib.  v.  and  Pliny  to  Tacitus, 
ep.  93,  lib.  viL  with  this  most'reniarkable  difference,  that  the  first 
earnestly  desires  his  friend,  not  to  attach  himself  scrupulously  to  the 
rules  of,  but  boldly  to  leap  the  barriers  of  truth  in  his  favour.  **  Te 
'*  plan6  etiam  atque  etiatn  rogo,  ut  et  omes  ea  vehementius  etiam 
**  quam  fortasse  sentis  et  in  ea  leges  historise  negligas ;''  whereas 
Pliny  declares  expressly,  that  he  doe^  not  desire  '^itus  to  give  the 
least  offence  to  tlie  truth,  **  Quancjuam  non  exigo  ut  excedas  rei 
**  actss  moduni.  Nam  nee  historia  debet  egredi  verltatem,  et 
"  honeste  factis  Veritas  sufficit.'^  One  would  have  thought  that 
Montai^e  should,  in  justice  to  Pliny,  have  distinguished  him  from 
Cicero  m  this  particular. 


302  AN  OBSERVATION  COKCERNIKd  CICSRO* 

2]^^1j       And  could  the  perfection  of  eloquence  add  any 
mrubysj^ufame  suitable  to  the  age  of  a  great  person,  certainly 
iieuat!     Scipio  and  Laslius  had  never  resigned  the  honour  of 
then*  comedies,  with  all  the  luxuriance  and  delicacy 
of  the  Latin  tongue,  to  ah  African  slave^;   for  that 
the  work  was  theirs,  its  beauty  and  excellence  suf- 
ficiently evince ;  besides,  Terence  himself  confesses 
as  much,  and  I  should  take  it  ifl  of  any  one  that 
should  dispossess  me  of  that  belief. 
Qualities       It  is  A  ^^^  o^  mockery,  and  affi-ont,  to  extol  a 
vbkbm  man  for  qualities  misbecoming  his  condition,  though 
tolraan*!  Otherwise  commendable  in  themselves ;  as  if  a  man 
JU^*"JjJj^  should  commend  a  king,  for  being  a  good  painter,  a 
■^  do*  Mb  good  architect,  a  good  marksman,  or  a  good  runner 
**^"*     at  the  ring;    commendations  that  add  no  honour, 
unless  mentioned  in  the  train  of  those  that  more 
properly  become  him,  namely,  his  justice,  and  the 
science  of  governing  and  conducting    his  people 
both  in  peace  and   war.       Thus  agriculture   did 
honour  to  Cyrus,  and  eloquence  and  learning  to 
Charlemagne*     I  have,  in  my  time,  known  some 
who,  by  a  knack  of  writing,  have  got  both  their 
titles  and  livelihood,  disown  their  apprentice-age, 
purposely  corrupt  their  style,  and  BXKCt  the  igno* 
ranee  of  so  vulgar  a  quality  (which  our  nation  ob- 
serves to  be  rarely  seen  in  very  learned  hands)  to 
seek  a  reputation  by  better  qualities. 
GrMtnctt      Demosthenes's    companions  in   the  embassy  to 
u^p"!^^  Philip,  extolling  that  prince  for  being  handsome, 
for  com-    eloquent,  and  a  hearty  toper ;  Demosthenes  replied^ 
■wn tiling..^,  That  those    were    commendations    fitter    for  a 
*'  woman,  an  advocate,  a  lawyer,  or  a  spunge,  than 
«  for  a  king:"* 

Imperet  bellanie  prior ^  jacerUem 
Lents  tn  hostem.\ 
First  let  his  empire  from  his  valour  flow, 
And  tlien  from  mercy  on  a  prostrate  foe. 

*  Plutarch,  in  the  Life  of  DenostheneSi  cap.  im 
t  Horat.  Carm.  Secul.  ver.  51, 59» 


AN  OBSERVATION  CONCERNING  CICJ^RO,  303 

It  is  not  his  ptofession  to  know  either  how  to  hunt  or 
to  dance  well : 

Orabunt  causae  alii,  ccBliqiie  meahis 
hescrilent  radioy  et  fidsemia  sidera  diceni ; 
Hie  regere  imperio  poptuos  sciai,* 

Liet  others  plead  at  the  litigious  bar, 

Describe  the  spheres,  point  out  each  twinkling  star. 

This  mao  can  nde,  a  peater  art  by  &r. 

Phitarch  says,  that  to  appear  so  excellent  in  these  GmtoMi 
less  necessary  qualities,  is  to  produce  witness  against  ^^®"',*\^ 
B  man's  self,  that  he  has  spent  his  time  and  applied  chtegt«<t 
his  study  ill,  which  ought  to  have  been  employed  in  *JJJ22li3^ 
things  more  necessair  and  useful.     Philip,  kmg  of 
Macedon,  tlierefi)re»  having  heard  that  Alexander, 
his  son,  sang  once  at  a  feast  to  the  wonder  and  envy 
of  the  best  musicians  there:    **  Art  not  thou  a- 
*•  shamed/'    said  he  to  him,   "  to  sing  so  well?"t 
And  to  the  same  Philip,  a  musician  said,  with  whom  he 
was  disputing  about  some  thin^  concerning  his  art : 
"  Heaven  forbid !  Sir,"  said  he,  "  that  so  great  a 
"  misfortune  should  ever  befal  you,  as  to  understand 
•*  these  things  better  than  I!"t  A  king  should  be 
able  to  answer,  as  Iphicrates  did  the  orator,  who 
pressed  upon  him,  in  his  invective,  after  this  man- 
ner, "  And  what  art  thou,  that  thou  bravest  at  this 
**  rate  ?  Art  thou  a  man  at  arms,  art  thou  an  archer  ? 
*^  art  thou  a  pike-man  ?  I  am  none  of  all  this  ;§  but 
**  I  know  how  to  command  all  these/'    And  Antis- 
thenes  took  it  for  an  argument,  not  much  to  the 
praise  of  kmenias,  that  he  was  cried  up  for  playing 
excellently  upon  the  flute. 

I  know,  very  well,  that  when  I  hear  any  one  insist  tu  merit 
upon  the  language  of  essays,  I  had  rather  a  great  ^[.^^^J^-j^ 
deal  he  would  say  nothing.    It  is  not  so  much  to  la^?^  * 
elevate  the  style,  as  to  depress  the  sense ;   and  so 

^    *  Virg.  Mxk.  Ub.  vi.  ver.  844. 
'  t  Flutardiy  in  the  Life  of  Pericles,  cap.  1. 

^  In  a  tract  of  Plutarch^  how  to  distinguish  the  flatterer  from  the 
friend,  cap.  25. 

i  Plutarch,  Inhis  Treatise  of  Fortune. 


S04t  AN  OBSERVATION  CONCERNING  CICERd. 

much  the  more  offensively,  as  they  do  it  more- 
obliquely.  Yet  am  I  much  deceived,  if  many  other 
essayists  enter  farther  into  the  matter,  and  how  well 
or  ill  soever,  if  any  other  writer  has  scajttered  things 
more  material,  or  at  least  bolder,  upon  paper  thm 
myself.  To  make  them  the  more  regiuar,  I  only 
muster  up  the  heads ;  should  I  annex  the  sequel,  I 
should  strangely  enlarge  this  volume:  and  how 
many  stories  have  I  scattered  up  and  down  in  this 
book,  that  I  only  touch  upon,  which,  should  any  one 
more  curiously  search  into,  they  would  find  matter 
enough  to  produce  infinite  essays :  neither  those 
stories,  nor  my  allegations  always  serve  simply  for 
example,  authority,  or  ornament ;  I  do  npt  regard 
them  only  for  the  use  I  make  of  them  :  they  often 
carry,  besides  what  I  apply  them  to,  the  seed  of  a 
more  rich  and  a  bolder  matter,  and  sometimes  con- 
ti*arywise  a  more  delicate  sound  both  to  myself,  who 
will  express  no  more  of  it  in  this  place,  and  to  others 
who  shall  happen  to  be  of  my  taste.  But  to  return 
to  the  talent  of  speaking;  I  find  no  great  choice 
between  not  knowmg  to  speak  any  thing  but  very 
ill,  and  not  knowing  any  thing  but  speaking  well. 
Non  est  ornamentum  virile  concinnitas.*  *'  Neatness 
*'  of  style  is  no  manly  ornament."  The  sa^es  tell  us, 
tliat  as  to  what  concerns  knowledge,  there  is  nothing 
but  philosophy;  and  as  to  what  concerns  effects, 
nothmg  but  virtue,  that  is  generally  proper  to  al} 
•  degrees,  and  to  all  orders. 
ipiCTiros        There  is  something  like  this  in  these  two  other 

una  Seneca    %  •-%  %  /*  %  t  •  •  i 

wet  in  op.  philosophers,  for  they  also  promise  eternity  to  the 
f^"y**^"j,j|**  letters  which  they  write  to  their  friends  ;  but  it  is 
Cicero,  after  another  manner,  and  by  accommodating  them* 
selves,  for  a  good  end,  to  the  vanity  of  another ;  for 
they  write  to  them,  that  if  the  concern  of  maJdng 
themselves  known  to  fiiture  ages,  and  the  thirst  or 
glory,  yet  detain  them  in  the  management  of  public 
ai&irs,  and  make  them  fear  the  soutude  and  retire- 

«  Seo.  ep.  95. 


AN  OBSERVATION  CONCEI^NING  CICERO.  305 

meat  to  which  they  would  persuade  them  ;  let  them 
never  trouble  themselves  more  about  it,*  forasmuch 
as  they  shall  have  credit  enough  with  posterity  to 
assure  them,  that  were  there  nothing  else  but  the 
very  letters  thus  writ  to  them,  those  letters  will  ren- 
der their  names  as  famous  as  their  own  public  actions 
could  do.  And  besides  this  difference,  these  are  not 
frothy  and  empty  letters,  that  have  nothing  but  well 
chosen  words,  in  a  proper  cadence,  to  support  them, 
but  rather  replete  and  abounding  with  hne  lessons 
of  wisdom  by  which  a  man  may  render  himself  not 
more  eloquent,  but  more  wise  ;  and  that  instruct  us 
not  to  speak  but  to  do  well:  away  with  that  elo- 
quence which  so  enchants  us  with  its  harmony,  that 
we  would  study  it  more  than  things;  unless  you 
think  that  of  Cicero  so  perfect,  as  to  form  a  com- 
plete bodv  of  itself. 

And  of  him  I  shall  add  one  story  more,  which  we  cicerovery 
read  of  him  to  this  purpose,  whereby  we  shall  be  let  JfJ^^*'^ 
folly  into  his  temper.     He  was  to  make  art  oration 
in  public,  and  found  himself  a  littled  straitened  in 
time,  to  fit  his  words  to  please  him,  when  Eros,t  one 
of  his  slaves,  brought  nim  word  that  the  audience 
was  deferred  till  the  next  day,  at  which  he  wa^so 
ravished  with  joy,  that  he  enfranchised  him  for  the     ,. 
good  news.  ^ 

To  what  has  been  alreadv  said  on  the  subject  of  Mon. 
letters,  let  me  add,    that  it  is  a  kind   of  writing  ^I^^IT^'g^ 
wherein  my  friends  think  I  can  do  something  }t  epistolary 

style. 

*  When  Epicurus  wrote  to  Idomeneus,  then  the  slave  of  rigid 
power,  and  who  had  great  afFain  in  his  hands,  to  persuade  him  from 
a  gay  life,  to  the  pursuit  of  true  and  solid  glory,  **  If,"  said  he,  **  you 
**  are  fond  of  glory,  my  epistles  will  make  you  more  celebrated 
'*  than  all  things  that  you  admire,  and  for  which  you  are  admired." 
Seneca^  tF*^^*  ^^*  ^  ^^  ^^'^"^  epistle,  says  to  bis  friend  Lu* 
cilius,  **  The  very  thing  which  Epicurus  could  promise  to  his 
*'  friend,  I  promise  to  you,  Lucilius ;  1  shall  be  in  the  favour  of  pos- 
•*  teritv :  it  is  in  my  power  to  bring  out  names  that  shall  be  lasting/* 

t  llutarch,  in  his  Notable  Saymgs  of  Kings,  &c«  in  the  article  of 
Cicero. 

X  I  have  met  with  eight  letters  from  Montaigne,  wherewith  I 
shaU  enrich  this  edition,  that  may  give  some  idea  of  what  he  here  sa^i. 
YOJL.  !•  X 


asid  I  should  rather    have  chose  to  publish    oopf 
whinmes  in  that  than  any  other  form,  did  I  ksow-to* 
whom  to  write ;  but  I  wamted  such  a  settled  corres^ 
po(Qden«e  as  I  oJSbce  had»  to  attract  me  to  it,  to  raise 
my  fancy,  and  to  support  me«    For  to  traffic  with 
the  winiy  BB  some  others  hare  dooe,  and  to  forge 
vain  names  to  correspond  with,  o&  a  serious  suls^ct, 
I  could  never  do  it  out  m  a  d^eam,  being  a  sworn 
enemy  to  all  maainer  of  fiction :  I  would  have  Weo 
more  ^figent,  and  more  confidently  sacureo  had  I 
had  a  hearty  friend,  to  whom  to  address,  than  to 
consider  the  different  aspects  of  a  whole  people,  and 
I  am  deceived  if  I  had  not  sucoeeded  better.    I 
have  YiaturaUy  a  comic  and  familiar  style ;  but  it  is  a 
peculiar  one,  and  not  proper  for  public  business,  my 
language  b^ing  in  all  respects,  too  compact,  irregu^r 
lar,  abrupt,  lind  singular  j  and  as  to  letters  .of  cere* 
monj,  mat  have  no  other  substance  than  a  &e  chain 
of  CQiorteouB  words^  I  am  wholly  to  seek ;  I  have 
neither  &culty,  nor  relish,  for  those  tedious  offers  of 
service  and  affection ;   I  have  not  so  much  faith  io 
them,  md  woiold  not  fi>rgive  myself,  should  I  o&r 
Kon-       more  than  I  intend,  which  is  very  different  from  the 
SSiion  to  present  practice ;  for  there  never  was  so  abject  and 
the  extra-  seTvile  prostitutioss  of  tcudcrs  of  life,  soul,  devo-^ 
SSJJiu     tion,  adoration,  vassal,  slave,  and  I  cannot  teU  what, 
nentt  fn    gg  now ;  when  such  expressions  are  sp  commonly 
^"*^"'      and  so  indifferently  bandied  to  and  fro  by  every  one, 
and  to  every  one,  that  when  they  woiud  prc^ss  a 
stronger  and  more  respectful  inclination  they  have 
not  wherewitjial  to  express  it    I  mortally  hate  all 
air  of  flattery,  whence  I  naturally  fall  into  a  dry, 
rough,  and  crude  way  of  speaking,  which,  to  such  as 
do  not  know  me,  may  savour  a  little  of  disdain :  I 
honour  those  most  to  whom  I  pay  the  least ;    and 
when  my  soul  is  cheerful,  I  forget  all  ceremony. 
Metbinlcs  they  should  read  it  in  my  heart,  and  that  my 
expression  injures  my  conception*   To  bid  welcome, 
take  leave,  give  thanks,  salute,  offer  my  service,  and 
sttdi  verbal  formalities,  as  the  ceremonious  laws  of 


AN  OBSEBYATION  COKCSIttfSff9  QlCKRO.  807 

our  cmlity  enjoin)  I  know  no  man  w  stupidly  uniHX>»  tig  nnnt. 
vided  of  language  as  myself:  and  have  never  beenltnteiirt. 
4Wiploye4  in  writing  Irtterg  of  favour,  and  reoom^^^^  ^r  re^ 
mendation,  but  he  tor  whom  I  wrrt^e  tboiu^t  tiliema*'pnr*°**** 
cold  and  flat.     The  Italians  are  great  printers  o^ 
letters.     I  do  believe  I  have  a  hundred  volumes  of 
them ;    of  all  of  which,  those  of    Hannibal  Caro 
seem  to  me  to  be  the  best.     If  all  the  paper  I  have 
formerly  stained  to  the  ladies,  when  my  hand  was 
really  prompted  by  love,  was  now  in  being,  there 
jnight  perhaps  be  found  a  page  worthv  to  be  com- 
municated to  our  young  inamoratos,  who  are  intoxi- 
cated with  that  passion. 

I  always  write  my  letters  in  post  haste,  so  that  The  borr^ 
though  mine  is  an  intolerable  bad  hand,  I  rather  j^J^^^ 
choose  to  write  myaelf,  than  to  employ  another ;  for  wrote. 
J  can  find  none  able  to  write  &Bt  efkoug^  for  my 
4ictatiag,  and  I  sever  transcribe  my.  1  have  ac* 
.customed  the  great  ones  tliat  know  me  to  put  up 
49irith  my  blots  and  dashes,  and  upon  paper  without 
idd  9t  margin.  Those  letters  that  cost  me  the  mo$t 
•pdins,  are  the  worst ;  when  I  drag  Che  matter  in,  it  is 
z  jsign  thiit  I  am  not  there.  I  faU  to  without  preme^ 
iditatioa  or  design ;  the  first  paragraph  begets  the 
second,  and  so  on.  .  The  letters  of  this  age  consist 
jyiore  m  margin,  and  pre&ces,  than  matter ;  I  had 
irather  wiite  two  letters^  than  close  and  fold  up  on^ 
^m1  always  aspign  that  employment  to  some  other; 
'fpalsQ,  when  the  business  is  dispatched,  I  would, 
vkh  all  my  heart,  commission  another  hand,  to  ad4 
those  Jong  harangues,  oifers,  and  prayers  that  we 
j[^ce  at  the  bottom,  and  would  be  glad  that  some 
new  custom  discharged  us  of  that  unnecessarf 
trouble ;  as  also  that  of  superscribing  them  with  (i 
'«|^ain  of  qualities,  and  titles,  which,  for  fear  of  mis* 
1»ki^  I  have  often  omitted  writing,  and  especiaUjr 
iQ  m&^  pf  the  law  and  the  revenue.  3o  numy  are 
tte  iimov9itii(m9  <^  offices,  and  so  hard  it  is  to  pla^f 
«9  many  titles  of  honour  in  their  proper  and  due  9f>^ 
ier»   wJM^  teipg  dettrly  j^uKht,  th«y  patutpt  b» 

x2 


50^  THE  RELISH  OP  GOOD  AND  EVIL 

changed,  nor  omitted  ^vithout  offence.  I  find  the 
Fame  fault  likewise  in  charging  the  title-pages  and 
inscriptions  of  the  books  we  commit  to  the  press, 
with  such  a  clutter  of  titles. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

That  the  Relish  of  Good  and  Evil  depends j  in  a  great 
Measure^  upon  the  Opinion  zee  have  oj' either* 

2or^u*u  JVIeN  (says  an  ancient  Greek  sentence)  are  tor- 
Md^ ^\^ mented  with  the  opinions  they  have  of  things,  and 
not  by  the  things  themselves.  It  were  a  great  point 
carried  for  the  rdief  of  our  miserable  human  con- 
dition,  could  the  truth  of  this  proposition  be  esta- 
blished. For  if  evils  have  no  admission  into  us  but 
by  the  judgment  we  ourselves  mstke  of  them,  it 
should  seem  that  it  is  in  our  own  power  to  despise 
them,  or  to  tuni  them  to  good.  If  things  surrender 
to  our  mercy,  why  do  we  not  manage  and  accom- 
modate them  to  our  advantage  ?  If  what  we  call  evil 
and  torment  is  neither  evil  nor  torment  of  itself, 
but  only  our  fancy  gives  it  that  quality,  and  makes  it 
so,  it  is  in  our  power  to  change  it ;  and  it  being  ia 
our  own  choice,  if  there  be  no  constraint  upon  us^ 
we  are  strange  fools,  to  take  part  with  that  side 
which  is  most  disgustftil  to  us,  ahd  to  give  sickness, 
want,  and  contempt,  a  sour  nauseous  taste,  if  it  be 
in  6\\T  power  to  give  them  a  more  grateful  relish^ 
and  if  fortune  simply  provide  the  matter  it  is  for  us 
to  give  it  the  form, 
whai  rvii  Now  that  what  we  call  evil  is  not  so  of  itself,  or 
u'cmfcerillat  feast,  be  it  what  it  will,  that  it  depends  upon  us 
w.  to  give  it  another  taste  or  complexion  (which  amounts 

to  the  same  thing),  let  us  examine  how  this  can  be 
maintained.  If  the  original  being  of  those  things  we 
fear  could  lodge  itself  in  us,  by  its  own  authority,  it 


-     DEP£ND8  UPON  OPINION.  309 

would  lod^ein  a  like  manner  in  all ;  for  men  are  uni- 
versallj  of  the  same  nature,  and,  saving  in  greater 
pr  less  proportions,  are  all  provided  witn  the  same 
tools  and  instruments  to  conceive  and  to  judge ;  but 
the  diversity  of  opinions  we  have  of  those  things, 
shows  clearly  that  they  only  enter  us  by  composition: 
one  person,  perhaps,  admits  them  in  their  true  state  j 
but  a  thousand  others  give  them  anew  and  contrary 
being  in  their  breast. 

We  hold  death,*  poverty,  and  pain,  for  our  prin-Thedif- 
cipal  enemies ;  but  this  death,  wiiich  some  repute  ^"^ttr' 
the  most  dreadful  of  all  dreadful  things,  who  knows 
not  that  others  call  it  the  only  secure  harbour  from 
the  tempests  of  life  ?  the  sovereign  good  of  nature  ? 
the  sole  support  of  our  liberty,  and  the  common  and 
ready  ren>edy  of  all  evils  ?  And  as  the  one  expects 
it  with  fear  and  trembling,  the  other  supports  it  with 
greater  ease  than  life.  That  blade  complains  of  its 
facility: 

.  Mors  tiiinam  pnvidos  viti  suhducere  noUeSp 
Sed  virtus  te  sola  daret.* 

O  death !  I  wish  thou  woakbt  the  coward  sparer 
That  of  thy  gifts  the  brave  alone  might  share. 

But  let  us  leave  this  boasted  courage.  Theodoras 
answered  Lysimachus^  who  threatened  to  kill  him, 
'*  Thou  wilt  do  a  brave  feat,"  said  he,  "  to  show 
"  thou  hast  the  force  of  a  cantharides."*  The 
greatest  part  of  philosophers  are  observed  to  have 
either  purposely  prevented,  or  hastened  and  assisted 
their  own  death.  How  many  common  people  do  we 
see  led  to  execution,  and  to  a  death  mixed  also  with 
shame,  and  sometimes  with  grievous  torments,  ap- 
pear with  such  assurance,  what  through  obstinacy  or 
natural  simplicity,  that  a  man  can  discover  no  change 
from  their  ordinary  state  of  mind;  settling  their  do- 
mestic affairs,  recommending  themselves  to  their 
friends,  singing,  preaching,  and  entertaining  the  peo^ 

*  Luc.  lib.  iv.  ver.  58,  531. 

f  Clc  Tusc.  Quscst.  lib.  v.  cap*  W» 


siO  THE  »fii«fi  (W  dtf<»  Aim  *va 

pie  s6  fim^h,  ttB  sometimes  to  sally  into  jedts,  and  tA 
drink  to  their  companions,  as  did  Socrates ! 
iok^ot       ^*>  "^^^  ^^  leading  to  the  gaSows,  told  tbeiH 
fome  per.  they  must  not  carrjr  him  through  such  a  street,  lest 
^"J^„**  a  merchant,  that  lived  there,  should  arrest  him  by 
*  the  way  fof  an  old  debt.    Another  said  to  the  hang- 
man, he  must  not  touch  his  neck,  for  fear  of  making 
him  laugh  outright,   he  was  so  ticklish.    Another 
answered  his  confessor,  who  promised  him  that  he 
should  that  day  Sup  with  our  Lord,  Do  you  go  then, 
said  he,  in  my  room ;  fbr  I,  for  my  part,  keep  fiist 
to-day.    Another,  having  called  for  drink,  and  the 
hangman  having  drank  first,  said  he  would  not  drink 
ifter  him,  for  fear  of  catching  *the  pox.    Every  b<Jdy 
has  he^rd  the  tale  of  the  Heard,  to  whom,  being 
Upon  the  ladder,  they  presented  a  whore,  telling  him 
(jas  our  law  sometimes  permits)  that  if  he  would 
marry  her,  they  would  save  his  life;  he  having  a 
while  viewed  her,  and  perceiving  that  she  halted, 
**  Come,  tie  up,  tie  up,"   said  he,  **  she  limps.** 
And  they  tell,  also,  of  a  fellow  in  Denmark,  who, 
being  condemned  to  lose  his  heaid,  and  the  like  con- 
dition being  proposed  to  him  upon  the  scaffold,  re- 
fused it,  by  reason  the  maid  they  offered  him  llad 
hollow  cheeks,  and  too  sharp  a  nose*    A  servant  at 
llioulouse,  being  accused  of  heiesy,  said  only,  that 
he  believed  as  his  master  did,  who  was  a  young  £rtu> 
dent,  prisoner  with  him,  and  he  chose  rather  to  die 
than  suffer  himself  to  be  persuaded  that  his  master 
could  err.    We  read^  that  when  Lewis  XI.  took 
Arras,  a  great  many  of  the  inhabitants  suflfered  them* 
selves  to  be  hanged^  rather  than  say,  God  save  thA 
kinff. 
BaffooBt       And  amongst  that  mean-souled  raCe  of  men,  the 
wiuia^kel'^oons,  there  have  been  some,  who  would  not  leave 
]^^     their  fiyoling  at  the  very  moment  of  death.     One, 
"^^   '     whom  the  hangman  turned  off  the  ladder ^   cried, 
"  Launch  the  galley  !**  an  ordinary  saying  of  his. 
Another,  who  was  laid  upon  a  bed  of  straw,  by  a  fire 


in  which  he  waa  to  be  burnt,  being  Hsked  by  the  phy 


w,  by 
by  the 


i>^nm)n  vpe»  ^fmio».  ill 

sictftR  trfiere  ha  mki  lay,  ^  Between  the  bencli  m^ 
*^  -tbe  fire/'  stad  be ;  and  the  pmst,  td  ghre  him  the^ 
extreme  unctka,  groping  f^r  Ms  feet,  wUcb  pain  had 
made  hinf  dnm  up,  ^  Yoa  will  find  them/'  said  he, 
^*  at  the  end  of  my  Itm.^  T^  one  that  exhorted  him 
to  reoommend  him«df  to  Ghdd,  ^  Wbd  Ik  going  to 
««  him?'*  Mid  he :  and  the  other  replying,  '<  It  wiS 
<*  pre«etitlT  he  y^durself^  if  it  be  his  good  pteMWct:^ 
^*  would  I  were  mre  to  be  l^re  to-morrow  Bight)** 
said  he ;  ^^  IX)  bat  recommend  yourself  to  Urn/' 
fiodd  the  other,  ^  and  you  wiU  9oon  be  there :''  '^  I 
^*  had  best  then/'  added  he,  **  to  cariy  my  reoom- 
^^  mendations  myself.'* 

In  the  kingdom  of  Narsingua,  to  tiiis  day,  thewomn 
«rives  of  their  priests^  «re  buried  altre  with  the  oodies^^*^^  ' 
of  their  basbMds.    All  other  wived  are  biimt  at  their  thMdiwi 
Jmsbands'  fbaerafey  which  abo  they  not  only  eon^^^^l^ 
stantlvbot  eheerlbUy  undergo^*    At  the  death  of^<!*«**f 
their  king,  hb  wives  md  doncobines,  hfe  fiivonrites,^'^^ 
lail  his  omcers,  and  domestic  serinants,  which  make 
\m  a  great  mimber  of  peofte,  present  themselves  so 
<:heemdly  to>  the  fire,  where  his  body  is  burnt,  that 
diey  seem  to  take  it  fer  a  great  hdooiir  to  accom* 
paa^  their  master  in  deatib. 

I/nriog  our  lote  war  of  Milan^  where  there  bap-^^i> 
l^ened  so  oan^f  takmgs  and  retakisgs  of  towns^  the^^JL!  """^ 
people,  impadent  oi  so  mstsy  vanou^  <^anges  of 
fortune^  took  sodi  a  resolution  to  die,  that!  have 
beard  my  &ther  say,  he  there  i»w  >  list  taken  of 
jtwenty-five  masters  of  fiimilies,  that  made  away  with 
l&emfsdves  in  emt  week's  time :  an  accident  sorne^    . 
what  resembling  that  <^  t^  Xanthiaiis,  who,  bim^ 
i^ieged  by  INttpd;  .eontraicted,  me^^  women,  and 

*  tn  the  Indis^  says  Clcevo,  where  k  is  tTie  custom  for  a  man  ta 
itaye  severai  wives,  wiien  th«  hturbttnd  dier,  the  wamen  dispute  who*^ 
trat  his  gfeatcst  ftvodrite;  sndihe  who  cwtiesthe  question,  is  cmaM 
joyed,  and  burnt  on  the  same  pile  with  her  husband.  Tusc.  Qusest. 
lib.  V.  cap.  27.  The  same  custom  was  observed  by  a  people  of 
Thrace,  accoi^g  t9  IJwedtfttts^  Ub.  v.  p.  SSI;  and  iSSlBiU  k^t  up 
in  IndostaUf 


312  TttE  RELISH  OF  GOOD  AND  fiVIL 

children,  such  a  furious  desire'of  dying,  that  nothitig 
can  be  done  to  escape  death,  which  they  did  not  put 
in  practice  to  avoid  life ;  insomuch,  that  Brutus  had 
much  ado  to  save  but  a  very  small  number.* 
Opinions       Evcry  opinion  is  of  force  enough  to  make  itself  to 
SSex^ntlhe  espoused  at  the  expense  of  life.     The  first  article 
•f  life,     of  that  valiant  oath,  which  Greece  took  and  observed 
in  the  Median  war,  was,  that  every  one  should  sooner 
exchange  life  for  death,  than  their  own  laws  for  those 
of  Persia.    What  a  world  of  people  do  we  see,  in 
£he  wars  between  the  Turks  and  the  Greeks,  rather 
embrace  a  cruel  death  than  renounce  circumcision 
for  baptism  ?     An  example  of  which  no  sort  of  reli- 
gion is  incapable.   » 
f^Twated^"     '^^^  kings  of  Castile  having  banished  the  Jews  out 
byth^Por.of  their  dominions,  John,  king  of  Portugal,  in  con- 
Mke'th^  sideration  of  eight  crowns  a-head,  afforded  them  an 
change      asylum  in  his,  for  a  limited  time;  upon  condition 
iiJIion?'    th^*  when  it  expired  they  should  depart ;  and  he  was 
to  furnish  them  with  shipping  to  transport  them  to 
Africa.     The  day  being  eiapsed,  they  were  given  to 
understand,  that  such  as  did  not  obey  should  remain 
slaves ;  the  vessels  were  very  slenderly  provided,  and 
those  who  embarked  in  them  were  rudely  and  villain- 
ously used  by  the  seamen,  who,  besides  other  indig- 
nities, kept  them  cruising  upon  the  sea,  forwards  and 
backwards,  till  they  had  spent  all  their  provisions, 
and  were  constrained  to  buy  of  them  at  so  dear  a  rate, 
and  for  so  long  a  time,  that  they  set  them  not  on 
shore  till  they  were  all  stripped  to  their  very  shirts. 
The  news  of  this,  inhuman  usage  being  brought  to 
those  who  remained  behind,  the  greater  p^  of  them 
resolved  upon  slavery,  and  some  made  a  show  of 
changing  tneir  religion.     Emanuel,  the  successor  of 
John,  being  come  to  the  crown,  first  set  them  at 
liberty ;  but  afterwards,  altering  his  mind,  ordered 
them  to  quit  his  country,  assigning  three  ports  for 

*  FifW  only,  who  were  saved  against  their  will.    Plutarch,  in  the 
Life  of  Marcus  Brutus,  chap.  8. 


DEPENDS  UPOK  OPIKIOV.  313 

their  passage.  He  hoped  (says  the  bishop  of  Qso- 
rius,  no  contemptible  Latin  historian  of  our  times) 
that  though  the  favour  of  the  liberty  he  had  restored 
to  them,  failed  of  converting  them  to  Christianity, 
yet  their  aversion  to  expose  themselves  to  the  mercy 
of  the  mariners,  to  abandon  a  country  they  were  now 
habituated  to,  and  grown  very  rich  in,  and  to  ex- 
pose themselves  in  strange  and  unknown  regions, 
would  certainly  produce  the  desired  efiect ;  but  find- 
ing himself  deceived  in  his  expectation,  and  that 
they  were  all  resolved  upon  the  voyage,  he  cut  off 
two  of  the  ports  he  had  promised  them,  to  the  end 
that  the  length  and  troublesomeness  of  the  passage, 
might  reduce  some :  or  that  he  might  have  an  oppor- 
tunity, by  crowding  them  into  one  place,  the  more 
conveniently  to  execute  what  he  had  designed;* 
which  was  to  force  all  the  children,  under  fourteen 
years  of  age,  from  the  arms  of  their  parents,  tO 
transport  them  from  their  sight  and  conversation,  to 
a  place  where  they  might  be  instructed  in  our 
rehffion. 

He  says,  tliat  this  produced  a  horrid  spectacle  j  Jewithat, 
the  natural  affection  between  the  parents  and  their  fo/thei^ 
children,  and  moreover  their  zeal  for  their  ancient  ||{^<>"> 
behef,  contending  against  this  violent  decree,  fathers  tbei^iTct 
and  mothers  were  commonly  seen  making  away  with*"*"  ^•*- 

*  Mariana,  the  celebrated  Jesuit,  says,  in  his  History  of  Spain, 
printed  at  Mentz  ftom.  IL  lib.  xxvL  ctm.  IS),  that,  by  an  edict  of 
this  prince,  those  children  were  baptised  by  force;  a  cruel  edict,  says 
the  good  Jesuit,  altogether  contrair  to  the  Christian  laws  and  in- 
stitutes. What,  he  adds,  shall  violence  be  used  to  force  men  to 
embrace  Christiani^,  and  in  the  most  important  affiurof  the  world, 
to  rob  those  whom  God  has  been  pleased  to  leave  to  their  own  dis- 
cretion, of  that  heavenly  present.  Liberty !  to  proceed  so  far  is  a 
horrible  crime,  as  well  as  to  force  children  with  this  view  from  the 
arms  of  their  pairents.  The  Portuguese  nation,  however,  committed 
sm  in  these  two  points,  having  drt^ged  the  children  to  baptism  by 
force,  and  without  the  consent  of  their  parents,  and  having  engaged 
those  more  advanced  in  years  to  make  profession  of  Christianity  by 
loading  them  with  reproaches  and  injuries,  and  especially  by  firaudu* 
lently  depriving  them  of  the  means  of  retiring  elsewhere,  which 
fbey  l)ad  «xpre»ly  obliged  themselves  to  grant  tnem. 


514  THE  nrtrm  or  good  aki}  evil 

themselves;  and  what  wasF  yet  wcvrse,  precipHatki^ 
their  young  children,  out  of  love  and  compftssicm, 
mto  well%  to  avoid  the  severity  6i  this  hnr.    As  to^ 
the  remainder  of  them,  the  time  that  had  been  feed 
being  expired,  fcr  want  of  means  to  transport  them,, 
they  returned  into  slavery.    Some  turned  Christhms, 
upon  whose  faith,  or  that  of  their  posterity,  even  to 
this  day,  which  is  a  hundred  years  since,  few  PcMtu^ 
guese  rely,  or  believe  them  to  be  real  converts; 
though  custom,  and  length  of  time,  are  much  more 
powerful  counsellors  for  such  changes,  than  aQ  con* 
straints  whatever. 
Aibifcracs      In  the  town  of  Castlenau-Darry,  fifty  heretics^ 
choM  ra-    Albigenses,  courageously  suffered  themselves  \jb  be 
ther  to  be  bumt  alivc  in  one  fire,  rather  than  renounce  their 
^°nn*h "  ^pi^i^^^*     QMotltB  non  modo  duct  ores  nostril  dicH 
•pibioDs.   Cicerd^  sed  universi  etiam  exercitus^  ad  n&n  dubkna 
moriemy  concurremnt  ?  "  How  often  have  not  onfy 
•*  our  leaders,  but  whole  armies,  ran  to  certain 
«  death?*' 
Death  I  have  seen  an  intimate  friend  of  mine  run  eagcffy 

^^^•••upon  death,  with  a  real  afiection  that  was  rooted  in 
his  heart  by  divers  plausible  arguments,  which  I 
could  not  d^possess  him  of,  who,  upon  the  first  occa* 
sion  that  he  could  do  it  with  an  appearance  of  ho- 
nour, rushed  into  it  without  any  visible  reason,  with 
an  obstinate  and  ardent  desire  of  dying.  We  have 
several  examples,  in  our  own  times,  of  peraoas,  even 
children,  who,  for  few  of  some  little  cfaastisementj 
have  dispatched  themselves.  And  what  sfiaff  we 
not  fear  (says  one  of  tlie  ancients  to  this  fMupoaeX 
if  we  dread  that  which  cowardice  itadf  has  ehoaen 
for  its  refuge  ?  Should  I  here  produce  a  lonff  list  of 
those  of  all  sexes  and  conditions,  and  of  afi  sects, 
even  in  the  most  happy  ages,  who  have  either  with 
great  constancy  looked  death  in  tlfe  face,  o?  vcduiu 
tarily  sought  it ;  and  souglrt  it  not  only  to  avoid  the 
evils  of  this  life,  but  some  purely  to  avoid  the  satiety 
of  living,  and  others  for  &e  hope  q£  a  better  cgq^ 
dition  elsewhere,  I  should  never  have^onCf    Nay^ 


BEPSmM  UPON  OPINION.  ^1^ 

the  number  is  so  infinite,  that,  in  truth,  I  should  with 
more  ease  reckon  up  those  who  have  feared  it  This 
one  therefore  shall  serve  for  aD :  Pyrrho,  the  philo* 
sopher,  being  one  day  in  a  boat,  in  a  very  great 
tempest,  singled  otit  those  he  saw  the  most  amrighted 
about  him,  and  encouraged  them  by  the  example  of 
a  hog,  that  was  there,  nothing  at  all  concerned  at 
the  storm.* 

i^all  we  then  dare  to  say,  that  this  advantage  of  to  what 
reason,  of  which  we  so  much  boast,  and  upon  theJJ^^JJ*^ 
account  of  which  we  think  ourselves  masters  andof^binjfs*" 
emperors  over  all  other  creatures,  was  given  us  ^or^^^^i^J^ 
our  torment  ?  To  what  end  serves  the  knowledge  of 
things,  if  it  renders  us  more  unmanly  ?  If  we  lose 
the  tranq[uillity  and  repose  we  should  enjoy  without  . 
itj  and  if  it  put  us  into  a  worse  condition  than  Pjnrrho*s 
hog;  shall  we  employ  the  understanding  that  waa 
conferred  lipon  us  for  our  greatest  good  to  our  own 
xuin,  setting  ourselves  against  the  design  of  nature, 
and  the  universal  order  of  things,  which  require  that 
erery  one  should  make  use  of  the  faculties  and 
means  he  has,  to  his  own  advantage  ?  Your  rule  is 
true  enough,  says  one,  as  to  what  concerns  death ; 
but  what  win  you  say  of  necessity  ?  MTiat  will  you 
moreover  say  of  pain,  which  Aristippus,  HierOny<* 
mus,  and  almost  all  the  wise  men,  have  reputed  the 
worst  of  evils  ?  And  those  who  have  denied  it  by 
word  of  mouth,  have,  however,  confessed  it  in  ac- 
tions. Possidonius  being  extremely  tormented  witih 
a  sharp  and  painful  disease,  Pompey  came  to  visit 
him,  excusing  himself  that  he  had  taken  so  unsea- 
lonable  a  time  to  come  to  hear  him  discourse  of  phi- 
losophy :  God  forbid,t  said  Possidonius  to  him,  that 
pain  should  ever  have  the  power  to  hinder  me  from 
talking,  and  thereupon  fell  immediately  upon  this 
same  topic,  the  contempt  of  pain ;  but,  in  Uie  mean 
time^   his  own  infirmity  was  playing  its  part,  and 

*  Diog.  Laort.in  the  Life  of  Pynrho,  Ub.  is.  Met.  ed. 
f.  Cic. Tutc  QiUBtl.  Ub.  iv,€ap. 25. 


316  THE  EELISH  OF  OOOD  AKD  BVIL 

plagued  him  incessantly;  on  which  he  cried  out. 
Thou  mayest  do  tliy  worst,  pain;*  but  thou  shall 
never  make  me  say,  that  thou  art  an  evil.  This 
story,  about  which  they  make  such  a  cluttei^  what 
is  there  in  it,  I  fain  would  know,  to  the  contempt  of 
pain  ?  It  only  fights  it  with  words,  and  in  the  mean 
tipe,  if  the  shootings  he  felt  did  not  move  him,  why 
did  he  interrupt  his  discourse  ?  Why  did  he  fancy 
he  did  so  great  a  thing,  in  forbearing  to  confess  it  an 
evil  ?  All  does  not  here  consist  in  tne  imagination ; 
our  fancies  may  work  upon  other  things ;  but  this  is 
an  object  of  which  our  sens<es  themselves  are  judges : 

Qiii  nisi  sunt  verij  ratio  quoquB falsa  sit  omnis.\ 
Which  if  not  true,  ev'n  reason  must  be  false. 

Shall  we  persuade  our  skins,  that  the  lashes  of  a  whip 
tickle  us ;  or  our  taste,  that  a  portion  of  aloes  is 
Graves  wine.  Pyrrho*s  hog  is  here  in  the  same  case 
with  us ;  he  is  not  afraid  of  death,  it  is  true,  but  if 
you  beat  him^  he  will  cry  out  to  some  purpose:  shall 
we  counteract  the  general  law  of  nature,  which,  in 
every  living  creature  under  heaven,  is  seen  to  trem- 
ble  under  pain  ?  The  verv  trees  seem  to  groan  under 
injuries.  Death  is  only  rclt  by  reason,  forasmuch  as 
it  is  the  motion  of  an  instant : 

Aviftdtf  ant  veniet,  nihil  est  pnesentis  in  iUa^ 
Morsqye  minus  poeme,  quam  mora  mortis  habet.X 

Still  past  or  future,  here  no  pfesent  tense 
Submits  the  fleeting  object  to  our  sense; 
Peath  cuts  so  quick  the  thread  of  life  in  twain. 
The  thought  is  far  more  dreadful  than  the  pain. 

A  thousand  beasts,  a  thousand  men,  are  sooner  dead 
than  threatened.  That  also  which  we  principally 
pretend  to  fear  in  death  is  pain,  the  ordmary  fore* 

*  Cic,  Tusc.  Qusest.  lib.  iv.  cap.  25» 

f  Lucret.  lib.  iv.  ver,  4«87. 

%  The  first  verse  of  this  distich  is  taken  from  a  satirical  composi- 
tion which  Montaigne's  friend,  Stephen  de  la  Boetius,  addressed  to 
him,  and  of  vbich  1  quoted  the  beginning  in  ch.  27i  Of  Friendship, 
The  second  is  from  Ovid'3  epistle,  Ariadne  to  Theseus,  ver.  ^. 


DEPENDS  UPON  OPINION.  317 

runner  ot  it ;  yet,  if  we  may  believe  a  holy  father,* 
Malum  mortem  ncn  facit^  nisi  quod  sequitur  mortem: 
*'  Nothing  makes  death  evil,  out  what  follows  it*' 
And  1  should  yet  say,  more  probably,  that  neither 
that  which  goes  before,  nor  that  which  follows  after, 
is  an  appurtenance  of  death:  we  accuse  ourselves 
fidsely.  1  find  by  experience,  that  it  is  rather  the 
uneasiness  of  the  imagination  of  death,  that  makes  us 
impatient  of  pain ;  and  that  we  find  it  doubly  grievous 
as  It  threatens  us  with  death.  But  reason  accusing 
our  cowardice  for  fearing  a  thing  so  sudden,  so  ine- 
vitable, and  so  insensible,  we  admit  this  other  as  the 
more  excusable  pretence.  All  ills  that  carry  no  other 
danger  along  with  them,  but  simply  the  evils  them- 
selves, we  treat  as  things  of  no  danger.  The  tooth- 
ach,  or  the  ffout,  however  painful,  yet  not  being  re- 
puted mortal,  who  reckons  them  in  the  catalogue  of 
<liseases  ? 

But  let  us  suppose, .  that  in  death  we  principally  Pain  tiie 
regard,  the  painj    as  also,  there  is  nothing  to  be^S"„\'^ 
feared  in  poverty,  but  that  it  throws  us  into  its  arms  *>««•  «f«*<«K» 
by  thirst,  hunger,  cold,  heat,  watching,  &c.  which  it  beVa^^ 
makes  us  sufier,  and  consequently  we  have  nothing  to  «>• 
do  with  pain.     I  will  grant,  ana  ver}'  willingly,  that 
it  is  the  worst  accident  of  our  being :  for  I  am  that 
man  who  the  most  hates  and  avoids  it,  considering 
that,  hitherto,  I  thank  God,  I  have  had  so  little 
share  of  it ;  but  it  is  in  our  power,  if  not  to  anni- 
hilate, at  least  to  lessen  it  by  patience,  and  though 
the  body  should  mutiny  to  maintain  the  soul  and  rea- 
son, nevertheless,  in  a  good  temper.     Were  it  not 
so,  who  had  ever  given  reputation  to  virtue,  valour, 
strength,  magnanimity,  and  resolution?  wherein  were 
their  parts  to  be  played,  if  there  were  no  pain  to  be 
defied?     Avida  est  periculi  virtus :\    "Valour  is 
**  greedy  of  danger.'*    Were  there  no  lying  upon  the 
hard  ground,  no  enduring,  armed  at  all  points,  the 
noon-day  heats,  no  feeding  upon  the  fiesh  of  horses 

*  August,  de  CiTitate  Dei,  lib.  i.  cap  11.  f  Seneca. 


filS  THE  WXI6R  Of  0OOD  AXV  fSnt 

and  asse$,  no  seemg  a  imtn's  sdf  hacked  to  pieces, 
no  sufifeiiiig  a  bullet  to  be  pulled  out  from  amdngst 
tbe  bonesy  nor  the  stitchiog  up,  cauteroing,  and 
searching  of  wounds,  by  what  means  were  theadwi- 
tage  we  covet  to  have  ovtx  the  vulgar  to  be  acquired? 
It  is  &r  from  flying  e\il  and  pain,  what  the  sages  say, 
that,  of  actions  equally  good,  a  man  should  nKwt 
wish  to  perform  that  wherein  there  is  greajb  labour* 
Non  est  tnim  hilarUaU^  nee  lascivia^  ntc  jnsuj  aul 
jaco  cotnitc  levitatUf  sed  scBpe  etiam  trUies  Jirtnitatt^ 
et  comtantia  sunt  beati  ;*  "  Men  are  not  happy  by 
^  muiji  and  wantonness,  nor  by  laughter  or  je^tuig, 
^'  the  companion  of  levity;  but  the  graver,  sort  are 
5'  often  so  from  their  steadiness  and  constancy/' 
And  for  this  reason,  it  has  ever  beesi  impossi}^  to 
persuade  our  fore-fathers,  that  the  victories  xibtained 
|)y  dint  <rf  force,  and  the  hazard  of  war,  were  not 
more  honourable  than  those  performed  in  great  aeeu^ 
fity,  by  wiles  and  stratagems : 

Ltetius  estf  quoties  magno  sibi  constat  honesttan.f 

Sptendid  achievements  more  august  appear. 
By  liow  much  more  they  cost  the  doer  dear. 

Besides,  this  ought  to  be  our  comfort,  that  naturally^ 
if  the  pain  be  violent,  it  is  of  shcMTt  duration  4  and  if 
long,  it  is  moderate.  Si  gravis^  brevis ;  si  iofigusj 
levis.X  Thou  wilt  not  feel  it  long,  if  thou  feelert 
it  too  much ;  it  will  soon  either  put  an  end  to  itself 
or  to  thee :  if  thou  can'st  not  support  it,  it  will  es:- 
port  thee.  Memineris  maximos  fnorte  Jiniri ;  parco§ 
fimlta  habere  intervaila  reauietis:  mediocrium  nas 
esse  dominos:  ut  si  toleraoiles  sint^  feramus ;  $im 
mmts^  k  vita^  quam  ea  non  placeat  tanquam  i  theatre 
€xeanms.%  ^^  Kemember,  that  gpreat  pains  are  ter- 
^  minated  by  death,  small  ones  have  many  intermis^ 
^^  sions  of  repose,  2jui  that  we  are  masters  of  the 
^  moderate  sort:  so  that,  if  tolerable,  we  may  bear 

*  Cicero  de  Finib.  lib.  ii.  cap.  90.  f  Luc.  lib.  ix.  ver.  40^ 

.     X  doaio  d«  Finib.  lib.il.  o^jp. 29.  i  Cicerode  Einib. llb.i<aip.  15. 


DEPENDS  UPON  OPINION.  *1» 

**  them ;  if  not,  we  can  go  oiit  of  Kfe  as  fixwn  a 
**  theatre,  where  the  entertainment  does  not  please 
**  us,"    That  which  renders  us  so  impatient  of  pain, 
is  the  not  being  accustomed  to  place  our  chief  co©- 
Iratment  in  the  mind^  the  sole  snd  sovereign  mi&tres^ 
<)f  our  condition.    The  body,  saving  in  greater  or 
less  proportion,  has  but  one  and  the  ;same  course  aod 
Ims}  wnerea^  the  soul  is  exU'emely  variable,  and 
9u^)ects  to  herielf,  and  to  her  own  condition,  be  it 
;what  it  will,  the  sensations  of  the  body,  and  all  other 
^bccidents.    We  ought,  therefore,  to  study  her,  to 
inquire  into  her  strength,  and  to  rouse  up  her  most 
powerful  Acuities.    There  is  no  reason,  prescription^ 
DOT  force,  th^U:  can  prevail  against  her  inelinatioft* 
And  choice.    Of  so  many  thousands  of  biasses  that 
ahe  has  at  her  disposal,  let  us  give  her  one  proper  to 
<our  repose  and  preservation ;  and  then  we  shall  not 
<nly  be  slusltered  firom  all  maxmefr  of  offence,  but, 
moreover^  ^putified  and  obliged,  if  we  like  it,  with 
levils  and  injuries.    She  makes  her  profit  indifferently 
of  all  things.     Errors  and  dreams  serve  her  to  good 
iise,  as  a  lawful  matter  to  lodge  us  in  sa&ty  aod  con- 
tentment   It  is  plain  enough  that  the  state  of  our  . 
mind  is  what  gives  the  edge  to  our  pains  and  plea- 
sures.   Beasts,  that,  have  no  soul«  Irave  to  their  own 
bodies  their  own  free  and  natural  sensations,  which, 
consequently,  are  in  every  kind  nearly  the  same,  aa 
appears  by  the  similitude  of  their  mx>tions.    If  we  did 
not  disturb,  in  om  members,  the  jurisdiction  titiat  ap- 
Detains  to  tiiem  in.  this  req^ect,  it  would  probably 
be  the  better  f<x  us.    Nature  has  ffiven  them  a  just 
and  moderate  temper,  both  to  pleasure  and  pain ; 
aeitfaer  can  it  fail  of  bding  just,  as  it  is  equal  and 
common.    But  ^nce  we  have  renounced  the  rules  of 
.nature,  to  give  ourselves  up  to  the  rambling  liberty 
joi  our  own  fancies,  let  w  at  least  help  to  bend  £hem 
to  the  most  agreeable  side.     Plato  fears  our  too  vehe- 
ment engagement  in  pain  and  pleasure,  forasmuch 
as  it  too  much  binds  and  knits  the  soul  to  the  body; 
whereas  I  am  of  a  quite  contrary  opinion,  and  think 


S20  THE  RELISH  OF  GOOD  AND  EVIL 

that  it  separates  and  disunites  them.     As  an  enemy 
is  made  more  eager  by  our  flight,  so  pain  grows 
fiercest  when  we  tremble  under  it.    It  will  surrender 
upon  imich  better  terms  to  them  who  make  head 
against  it ;  a  man  must  oppose  and  stoutly  set  him- 
self against  .it.    In  retiring  and  giving  ground,  we 
invite  and  draw  upon  ourselves  the  ruin  that  threatens 
us.     As  the  body  is  more  firm  in  an  encounter,  the 
more  stifily  it  sets  itself  to  it ;  so  is  it  with  the  soul. 
But  let  us  come  to  examples,  which  are  -the  proper 
commodity  for  fellows  of  such  feeble  reins  as  m3rself; 
where  we  shall  find,  that  it  is  with  pain,  as  with 
stones,  which  receive  a  more  sprightly  or  a  fainter 
lustre,  according  to  the  foil  they  are  set  in,  and  that 
it  has  no  more  room  in  us  than  we  are  pleased  to 
allow  it.     Tantum  doluerunty  quantum  doloribus  it 
inseruerunt  ;*     **  So  far  as  they  gave  way  to  pain,  so 
*'  far  it  took'  advantage  of  tnem."     We  are  more 
sensible  of  one  little  prick  of  a  surgeon's  lancet, 
than  of  twenty  wounds  with  a  sword  in  the  heat  of 
battle. 
We  pairs      As  for  the  pain  of  child-bearing,  said  by  the  phy- 
b^aHiIg'    sicians,  and  by  God  himself,  to  be  gteat,  and  which 
Mpported  we  make  so  great  a  clutter  about,  there  are  whole 
mill  case.  jjj^jjQj^g  ^^^  make  nothing  of  it     To  say  nothing  of 
the  LacedaBmonian  women,  what  alteration  can  yon 
see  in  th^  wives  of  our  Swiss  foot-soldiers,  except 
that  when  they  trot  after  their  husbands,  you  see 
them  to-day  with  the  child  hanging  at  their  backs, 
that  they  carried  y6sterday  in  their  bellies  ?  and  the 
gipsies  wash  their  brats  so  soon  as  they  come  into  the 
world,  in  the  first  river  they  meet 
Eemark-        Bcsidcs  the  many  whores  who  daily  steal  their 
Itencc"to    children  out  of  their  womb,    as  before  they  stole 
tiiii  pur-    them  in, — ^that  fair  and  noble  wife  of  Sabinus,  a  pa- 
\^^  *  trician  of  Rome,t  for  another  person's  sake,  without 

*  Aug.  de  Civit.  Dei. 

f  A  very  curious  hiktory  is  this,  which  you  will  find  at  Urge  m 
Flutarcb's  Treatise  of  Love,  ch.  34. 


DEPENDS  UPON  OPlKtOKi  S21 

help,  without  crying  out,  or  so  much  as  a  groan, 
bore  the  delivery  of  twins. 

A  poor  simple  boy  of  Lacedasmon  having  stole  artie  ooo* 
fox  (for  they  more  fear  the  shame  of  their  folly  inJ2,"J]|^^"^ 
stealing,  than  we  do  the  punishment  of  our  knavery),<i«iiioD»B 
and  having  got  him  under  his  coat,*  rather  suflfered^**^' 
it  to  tear  out  his  bowels  than  he  would  discover  his 
theft.    Another,  offering  incense  at  sacrifice,  suffered 
himself  to  be  burnt  to  the  bone,  by  a  coal  that  fell 
in  his  sleeve,  rather  than  disturb  the  ceremony.  And 
there  have  been  a  great  number,  who,  only  for  a  trial 
of  their  virtue,  according  to  their  institutions,  have, 
at  seven  years  old,  endured  to  be  whipped  to  death, 
without  changing  their  countenance.     Cicero   has 
seen  them  fight  in  parties,  with  fists,  feet,  and  teeth, 
till  they  fidnted  and  sunk  down  rather  than  confess 
themselves  overcome.     Custom  would  never  conquer 
nature,  for  she  is  ever  invincible,  but  we  have  poi- 
soned the  mind  with  shadow,  dehghts,  wantonness, 
negligence,  and  sloth  ;t  and  with  vain  opinions,  and 
corrupt  manners,  render  it  effeminate,  mean. 

Every  one  knows  the  story  of  Scasvola,  that  hav-AnditrMn. 
ing  slipped  into  the  enemy's  camp  to  kill  their  ge-jjjj^*  ~ 
neral,  and  missed  his  blow,  in  order  to  repair  his 
fault,  and  deliver  his  country,  he  not  only  confessed 
his  design  to  Porsenna,  the  Icing,  whom  he  had  pur- 
posed to  kill ;  but  added,  "  That  there  were  then  in 
^^  his  camp  a  great  number  of  Romans,  his  accom- 
*^  plices  in  the  enterprise,  as  good  men  as  he ;"  and^ 
to  show  his  fortitude,  causing  a  pan  of  burning  coals 
to  be  brought,  he  suffered  his  arm  to  broil  upon  them, 
till  the  king,  conceiving  horror  at  the  sight,  com- 
manded the  fire-pan  to  be  taken  away.  What  would 
you  say  of  him,  that  would  not  suspend  reading  in  a 
Dook  whilst  he  was  under  an  incision  it  and  of  an- 
other that  persisted  to  mock  and  laugh,  in  contempt 

*  Plutarch,  in  the  Life  of  Lycurgus,  cap.  14. 
t  Cic.  Tusc  Qiuest.  lib.  v.  cap.  17. 
X  Senec  ep.  78. 
VOL.  L  Y 


dd2  rut  iLVLUn  orp  good  ^md  eviIi 

of  thiB  pains  inflicted  upon  him ;  ♦  so  thJit  liiB  enraged 
cruelty  of  his  executioners,  and  all  the  inventicois  of 
tbrtures  redoubled  qpon  him,  one  after  anodier,  were 
spent  in  vain?  but  he  was  a  philosopher.  What 
would  you  say  of  one  of  Caesar's  gladiiitors,  who 
laughed  all  the  while  that  his  wounds  were  probed 
and  laid  open  ?  Quis  mediocris  gladiator  ing€nmitf 
Quis  vultum  mutaK)it  unquam  ?  Quis  nan  modo^tetit^ 
verum  etiam  decubuit  turpiter?    Qms  cum  decu* 

*  buissetj  ferrum  recipere  jussuSj  coUum  contraxit  ?t 
*^  What  meati  fencer  ever  so  much  as  gave  a  groan? 
*«  which  of  them  ever  so  much  as  changed  his  coun- 
**  tenance  ?  which  of  them,  standing  or  idling,  did 
•'  either  with  shame  ?  which  of  fliem,  when  he  was 
**  down,  and  commanded  to  receive  the  stroke  of 

*  "  the  sword,  ever  shrunk  in  his  neck  ?"  Let  us 
miention  the  wom'en  too.  Who  has  not  heard  at 
Paris  of  her  that  caused  her  face  to  be  fleaed,  oidy 
for  the  fresher  complexion  of  a  new  skin  ?  There 
are  some  who  have  dr^wn  good  and  sound  teeth,  fiir 
the  sake  of  lisping  with  delicacy,  or  to  set  liiem  in 
better  order.  How  many  examples  of  the  coBtiempt 
of  pain  have  we  in  that  sex  ?  what  can  they  not  do  ? 
what  do  they  fear  to  do,  for  ever  so  little  hopes  of  an 

*  addition  to  their  beauty  ? 

Vellere  qiteis  aim  est  albos  a  slirpe  capillos, 
Et  faciem  demptapelle  rejerre  novam.X 

Who,  by  the  roots,  pluck  tlieir  grey  hairs,  and  tiy 
With  a  new  skin  an  old  &ce  to  supply. 

I  have  seen  some  of  them  swallow  sand,  ashes,  and 
do  their  utmost  to  spoil  their  stomachs,  to  get  pale 
complexions.  To  get  a  slender  waist,  what  racks 
will  they  not  endure  of  girding  and  cramping  their 


.  *-If  Tam  not  mistaken  Anaxarohus  is  meant,  whom  Nioocreoo, 
tyrant  of  Cyprus,  caused  to  be  torn  to  pieces  without  being  able  to 
cdnquer  his  constancy.  Diog.  Xaert.  in  the  Life  of  Anaxardius, 
lib.  ix.  sect.  58,  59. 

Cic.  Tusc.  Qusst  lib.  ii.  cap.  17. 

Tib.  lib.  i.  eleg.  9,  vcr  4:5,  46. 


I 


IXEEEKDS  U70N  OPISffffL  3^ 

akUs  with  stiff  bodice^*    till  tbejr  hanre  notches  in 
their  ribs,  that  sometunes  ue  indented  into  the  quick 
fl^,  and  prove  mortal?    It  is  an  ordinary  thing 
\rtth  aevem  BatixxiSy  at  tUb  da};,  to  wound  themp 
aetves  in  good  earnest,  ta  gain  credit  to  what  they 
declare.    Of  which  our  king  relates  notable  examples 
of  what  he  has  seen  in  Pcnand,  and  what  was  done 
in  remect  to  ]ti]iiself.t    But  besides  what  I  know  to 
haTC  been  done  of  this,  kind  by  some  in  France,   . 
when  I  came  from  that  finnous  assembly  of  the  es- 
tates at  Bloisy  I  had  a  little  before  se^i  a  maid  in 
Kcardy,  who,,  to  manifest  the  acdour  of  her  promises, 
as  also  her  ccmstancy^  ga^e  herself,  with  a  bodkia 
she  wore  in  her  hair,  four  or  five  stabs  into  the  ann, 
till  the  blood  gushed  out.    The  Turks  scarify  them^. 
sdves  much  in  hc»toiu:  of  their  mistresses,  and  to  the 
end  that  the  scar  may  the  longer  remain,  they  pre-* 
sently  dap  fire  to  the  wound,  where  they  hold  it. an* 
incredible  time  to  stop  the  bloody  and  fotrm  the  mark.;, 
people  that  have  been  eye-witnesses  of  the  fibct,  have 
both  written  of  this  to  me,  and  sworn  to  the  truth  of 
it    Yea,  for  ten  aapers,  there  are  fellows  to  be  found 
every  day,  that  will  give  thanselves  a  good  deep  slash 
in  the  arm  or  thighs.    I  am  ¥rilling,  however,  to  have 
the  testimonies  nearest  to  us,  when  we  have  most 
need  of  them ;  for  Christendom  iumishes  us  with 
enough.    After  the  e:!cample  of  our  blessed  Guide, 

*  These  bodice,  being  pressed  yery  tight  to  the  sides  by  girdles^ 
rendered  the  flesh  there  benumbed  as  it  were,  and  ais  h9i*d  as  tb« 
homy  or  callous  part  of  the  hands  of  certain  labourers.  The  ladies, 
who  exposed  themselves  to  this  racking  torture,  when  it  was  the 
fiuhion,  laughed  at  their  own  folly  afterw^ds,  though  it  is  not  un- 
likely that  they  would  be  all  as  ready  to  make  another  sacrifiQa  oi 
tfieir  ease  to  their  stttffo,  was  the  fashion  to  be  revived, 

f  M.  de  Thou  says  expressly,  that  when  this  prince  came  away 
urivately  from  Poland,  the  mat  chamberlain  of  the  kingdom,  whot 
followed,  and  with  much  ado  overtook  him  on  the  froBliw  o£  Aus- 
tria, haying  in  Y«a  persuoded  hin^  to  tetum  IwkUf  Poland*  qui^cl 
him  at  last,  after  having  promised  inviolable  fidelity  to  him,  by 
piercing  his  arm  with  a  dagger,  and  then  sucking  the  blood,  to  the 
great  astonishin^t  of  the  Unff,  to  whom  he  memt  thereby  to  testify 
his  devotion.    Thov'i  VMX.  Iw.  Iviii*  at  tba  ywc  U7f 

y2 


324  THE  RELISH  OF  GOOD  ANB  IS^L 

there  have  been  many  who  in  devotion  bear  the  cro6&^ 
We  are  informed,  upon  good  authority,  that  the  king 
St.  Lewis*  wore  a  hair-shirt,  till,  in  ms  old  age,  h£ 
confessor  gave  him  a  dispensation  to  leave  it  off; 
and  that  every  Friday  he  caused  his  shoulders  to  be 
drubbed  by  his  priest,  with  five  small  chains  of  iron, 
which  were  always  carried  about  amon^^t  his  night 
accoutrements  mr  that  purpose.    Wilham,  our  hat 
duke  pf  Guienne,  the  fiither  of  Eleanor,  who  trans« 
mitted  this  duchy  into  the  fiunilies  of  France  and 
England,  continually,  for  ten  or  twelve  years  before 
he  died,  wore  a  suit  of  armour  under  a  religious 
habit,  by  way  of  penance.     Fulk,  count  of  Anjou, 
went  as  far  as  Jemsalem,  there  to  cause  himseu  to 
be  whipped  by  two  of  his  servants,  with  a  rope  about 
his  neck,  before  the  sepulchre  of  our  Lord ;  nay,  do 
we  not,  moreover,  every  Good-Friday,  in  several 
places,  see  great  numbers  of  men  and  women  beat 
and  whip  themselves  till  they  lacerate  and  cut  the 
flesh  to  the  very  bones  ?  I  have  often  seen  this,  and 
without  enchantment.     And  they  say  (for  they  go 
disguised),  that  some  for  money  undertook,  by  tUs 
means,  to  vouch  for  tlie  religion  of  others,  by  a  con- 
tempt of  pain,  so  much  the  greater,  as  the  incentives 
of  devotion  are  more  powenul  than  those  of  avarice. 
Q.  Maximus  buried  his  son,t  when  he  was  consul ; 
M.  Cato  his,  when  praetor  elect;  and  L.  Paulus  both 
his,  within  a  few  days  one  after  another,  with,  a  com- 
posed countenance  which  expressed  no  manner  of 
grief.     I  said  once  of  a  certain  person,  by  way  of 
jest,  that  he  had  disappointed  the  divine  justice :  for 
an  account  of  the  violent  death  of  three  children  of 
his,  grown  up,  being  sent  him  in  one  day,  for  a 
severe  scourge,  as  it  is  to  be  supposed,  he  almost 
took  it  for  a  particular  grace  and  favour  of  heaven. 
I  do  not  follow  these  monstrous  humours,  though  I 
lost  two  or  three  at  nurse,  if  not  without  regret,  at 

*  Vainville's  Metnourg,  torn.  ii.  54, 55. 

t  Cic  TvBC.  Quasi,  lib.  iii.  cap.  88 


DEPENDS  UPOK  OPINION.  32S 

least  without  repining;  and  yet  there  is  hardly  an 
accident  that  pierces  men  more  to  the  quick.  I  see 
a  great  many  other  occasions  of  sorrow  that,  should 
they  happen  to  me,  I  would  hardly  feel ;  and  have 
despised  some  when  they  have  befallen  me,  to  which 
the  world  has  given  so  terrible  a  %ure,  that  I  should 
blush  to  boast  of  my  constancy.  Ea^  quo  intelligiturj 
wm  in  naturoj  sed  in  opinione  esse  tBgritudinem.^ 
^  By  which  it  is  understood,  that  the  grievance  is 
^  not  in  nature,  but  opinion.'*  Opinion  is  a  power- 
fid  party,  bold,  and  immoderate.  Did  ever  any  so 
earnestly  hunt  after  security  and  repose,  as  Alexander 
and  Caraar  did  af)»r  disturbances  and  difficulties  ? 
Terez,  the  &ther  of  Sitalces,  king  of  Thrace,t  was 
wont  to  say,  that  when  he  had  no  wars,  he  fancied 
•there  was  no  difference  between  him  and  his  groom.t 
Cato,  the  consul,  to  secure  some  cities  of  Spain  from 
revolt,  only  interdicting  the  inhabitants  of  them  from 
wearing  arms,  a  great  many  killed  themselves :  Ferox 
gens^  nullam  vitam  rati  sine  arms  esse :%  '^  A  fierce 
^^  people,  who  thought  there  was  no  life  without  a 
**  war."  How  many  do  we  know,  who  have  forsaken 
the  calms  and  sweetness  of  a  quiet  life  at  home, 
amongst  their  acquaintance,  to  seek  out  the  hoiror  ' 
of  umnhabitable  deserts ;  and  having  precipitated 
themselves  into  so  abject  a  condition,  as  to  be- 
come the  scorn  and  contempt  of  the  world,  have 
.hugged  themselves  with  the  conceit,  even  to  affec- 
tation ? 

Cardinal  Borromeo,  who  died  lately  at  Milan,  in  AoftereKfe 
the  midst  of  all  the  jollity  that  the  air  of  Italy,  his  t^^^. 
youth,  noble  birth,  and  great  riches  invited  him  to, 
Uved  in  so  austere  a  manner,  that  the  same  robe  he 
wore  in  summer  served  him  for  winter  too ;  his  bed 
was  only  straw,  and  the  hours  of  vacancy  from  his 

*  Cic.  Tu8C«  Quaest.  lib.  iiL  cap.  28, 
f  Diod.  Sicul.  lib*  xii.  cap.  15. 

t  Plutarch,  in  the  Notable  Sayings  of  the  ancient  Kings,  fifincei, 
wa  GenenUa. 

(  Tit,  I'iv.  lib.  xxxiy.  cap.  17. 

18 


"396  THE  fiSmS  19V  IjOM^  JtHD  ^TIL 

.-fanctitms,  he  csonttniKJly  spent  in  study,  upod  liib 
knees,  havmg  a  li^tie  Inreaui  and  water  set  by  his 
book,  which  was  iiis  whole  cepast,  asid  aH  the  time  . 
he  spent  in  eating* 
Fatal  acci.     I  know  sooie  who,  Soft  -pra&t  and  adunaacement, 
porttdTy  have  consented  to  cndcoidoin,  of  which  the  bare 
wme^cr-  jiame  only  affrights  so  many  people.    If  ike  sight  be 
ouTgdcf/  not  the  most  necessary  of  all  our  senses,  it  is  at  least 
-the  most  pleasant :  but  the  most  pfeasant  and  most 
usefiil  of  all  our  members,  seem  to  be  those  of  gene- 
ration, and  yet  a  great  many  have  conceived  a  mortid 
hatred  against  IJiem,  merely  £ir  their  being  too  ami- 
:ahle :  and  have  deprived  themselves  nf  them,  oody 
-fer  the  sake  of  then*  value.    As  much  lliot^ht  he  of 
his  eyes,  who  put  them  out.    The  genecaUly,  and 
(  more  solid  sort  of  men,  think  it  a  great  hies^aag  to 
\  have  many  childr^i ;  I,  and  some  otJuera,  think  it  as 
/happy  to  be  without  them.    And  ^vhen  Thales  was 
asked  why  he  did  not  marry,  he  answered,  ^^  became 
'^  he  had  no  mind  to  leave  any  wsae  bddnd  him."* 
That  our  opimon  gives  l^e  vahie  to  things,  is  very 
manifest  in  a  great  many  of  these  which  we  do  not 
so  much  regard  for  tiiemselves,  as  cm  our  own  ac- 
count, and  never  consider,  dtfaer  their  virtues,  or 
their  use;  but  only  how  dear  they  cost  us :  usthouj^ 
that  were  a  part  of  their  substanee :  and  we  only  re^ 
pute  for  value  in  them,  not  what  they  bring  to  as, 
but  what  we  add  to  them.    By  i^ich  I  understand, 
that  we  are  managers  of  our  expense.     As  it  weighs, 
it  serves  for  so  much  as  it  weighs ;  our  opraon  will 
never  suffer  it  to  want  of  its  vsdue.    The  price  gives 
value  to  the  diamond,  difficulty  to  virtue,  sufl^rmg 
^o  devotion,  and  griping  to  physic.    A  ei^rtain  per- 
!Son,  to  be  poor,  threw  bis  crowns  into  the  same  sea, 
4o  which  so  many  came  from  aS  parts  of  the  wcrid 
to  fish  for  riches. 

*  Diog.  Laertius,  in  the  Life  of  Thales,  lib.  i.  sect  96.  Tbales'a 
Jiisw^r  admits  of  two  very  different  construction^,  according  to  the 
different  readings  of  this  passage.  Whether  MontaigQe!s  be  ng|ta| 
or  wro9g  is  not  my  business  to  determine  h^e. 


DKFEK9&  UFOK  OHNIGST.  S87 

Epicurus  says,*  that  to  be  nch  is  no  relief  from/ATarice, 
but  only  an  alteration  o^  misery.    In  plain  truth,  it  J]^^*^ 
is  no  want,  but  rather  abundance,  that  creates  ava^^from. 
ride.    Neither  will  I  stick  to  deliver  my  own  expe- 
rience concerning  this  affiun     I  have  since  my  child< 
hood  lived  in  three  sorts  of  conditions ;  the  first, 
which  continued  near  twenty  years,  I  passed  over 
without  any  other  means,  but  what  were  accidental, 
and  depending  upon  the  allowance  and  assistance  of 
others,   without  stint  or  certain  revenue*     I  then 
spent  my  money  so  much  the  more  cheerfully,  and 
with  so  much  the  less  care  how  it  went,  as  it  wholly 
depended  upon  my  over-confidence  of  fortune.    I 
never  lived  more  at  my  ease^  I  never  found  the  purse 
of  any  of  my  friends  shut  against  me,  ha.\'ing  laid 
down  to  myself  this  rule,  by  no  means  to  fail  of  pay- 
ment at  the  appointed  time,  which  also  they  have  a 
thousand  times  respited,  seeing  how  careful  I  was  to 
satisfy  them  ;  so  that  I  practised  at  once  a  thrifty^ 
and  withal  a  kind  of  alluring  honesty.     I  naturally 
felt  a  kind  of  pleasure  in  paying,  as  if  I  eased  my 
shoulders  of  a  troublesome  weight,  and  from  an  image 
of  slavery ;  besides  that  I  felt  a  ravishing  kind  of  sa« 
tisfaction,  by  doing  a  just  action,  and  pleasing  an- 
other.    I  except  those  payments,  where  the  trouble 
of  reckoning  and  bargaining  are  required;  fi^r  if  I 
can  meet  with  nobody  to  ease  me  of  that  burden,  I 
avoid  them,  how  scandalously  and  injuriously  soever^ 
all  I  possibly  can,  for  fear  of  those  little  wrangling 
disputes^  with  which  both  my  humour  and  way  of 
speaking  are  totally  incompatible.    There  is  nothing 
I  hate  so  much  as  driving  a  bargain;  it  is  a  mere 
traffic  of  cozenage  and  impudence ;  where,  after  an 
hour's  debate  and  haggling,  both  parties  abandon 
their  words  and  oaths,  for  five  sols  profit  or  abate- 
ment.    And  yet  I  borrowed  at  great  disadvantage ; 
for,  wanting  the  confidence  to  speak  to  the  person 
jnysel^  I  ventured  my  request  on  paper,  which  makes 

*  Seneca,  ep.  17. 


S2ft  THE  B£LI8R  OF  GOOD  AND  SVH. 

bat  a  weak  if  any  effort^  is  a  very  unsuccessfid  advo- 
cate, and  is  of  very  great  advantage  to  him  who  has 
a  mind  to  deny.  I,  in  those  days,  more  freely  re- 
ferred the  conduct  of  my  affairs  to  the  stars  than  I 
have  since  done  to  my  own  forecast  and  sense.  Most 
good  husbands  look  upon  it  as  a  horrible  tiling  talive 
always  thus  in  uncertainty,  and  do  not  consider,  in 
the  mt  place,  tliat  the  greatest  part  of  the  world 
live  so.  How  many  worthy  men  have  wholly  aban- 
doned a  certainty  of  their  own,  and  do  so  daily,  to 
court  the  inconstant  favour  of  princes,  and  fortune? 
Caesar  ran  above  a  million  of  gold  more  than  he  was 
worth  in  debt,  to  become  Caesar.  And  how  many 
merchants  begin  their  traffic  by  the  sale  of  their 
farms,  which  they  send  to  the  Indies, 

Tot  per  impelentia  Jreta  r* 
Over  so  inanj  storaiy  seas^ 

In  so  great  a  drought  of  devotion,  as  we  see  in  these 
days,  we  have  a  thousand  and  a  thousand  colleges 
that  pass  it  over  commodiously,  expecting  every  day 
their  dinner  from  the  liberality  of  heaven.  Secondly, 
they  do  not  take  notice,  that  this  certitude,  upon 
which  they  so  much  rely,  is  not  much  less  uncertain 
and  hazardous  than  hazard  itself.  I  see  misery  be- 
yond two  thousand  crowns  a-year,  as  near  as  if  it 
stood  close  by  me ;  for  besides  that  it  is  in  the  power 
of  chance  to  make  a  hundred  breaches  to  poverty, 
through  our  riches  (there  being  very  often  no  mean 
between  the  highest  and  the  lowest  fortune) : 

Fortuna  vilrea  est :  Um^  qmim  splendetj  Jrangitur.f 

Fortune  is  glass,  the  brighter  it  doth  shine, 
More  frail :  and  apt  to  break  'tis,  wbcn  most  fine. 

To  turn  all  our  fences  and  bulwarks  topsy  turvy,  I 
find  that,  by  divers  causes,  indigence  is  as  frequently 
seen  to  inhabit  with  those  who  have  estates,  as  with 
those  that  have  none  ;  and  perhaps  it  is  not  quite  so 

*  Cat.  epig.  iv.  yer.  18.      f  Publius  Syrius,  upon  fortune  £x  Munia. 


BfiPEVfis  UPON  opnnoK.  329 

grievous  when  alone,  as  when  accompanied  with 
riches,  which  flow  more  from  good  man^ement  than 
income.    Faber  est  sua  auisquefortun    :*  "  Every 
^  one  is  the  maker  of  nis  own  fortune ;''  and  an 
uneasy,  necessitous,  busy,  rich  man,  seems  to  me 
more  miserable,  than  he  that  is  simply  poor.     In 
divitiis  inopesj  quod  genus  egestatis  gravissimum  est  :t 
**  Poor  in  the  midst  of  riches,  which  is  th^  worst 
*'  kind  of  poverty."   The  greates.  and  most  wealthy 
princes  are,  by  poverty  and  scarcity,  driven  com- 
monly to  extreme  necessity ;  for  can  there  be  any 
more  extreme,  than  to  become  tyrants,  and  unjust 
usurpers  of  their  subjects'  estates  r  My  second  condi- 
tion of  life  was,  to  have  money  of  my  own ;  where- 
in I  so  ordered  the  matter,  that  I  had  soon  laid  up  a 
very  notable  sum,  accorcUng  to  my  fortune  ;   not 
considering  with  myself,  that  that  was  to  be  reputed 
having,,  which  a  man  reserved  from  his  ordinaiy  ex- 
pense, nor  that  a  man  could  rely  upon  the  hopes  of 
a  revenue  to  receive,  how  clear  soever  his  estate 
might  be.    "  For  what,"  said  I,  "  if  I  should  be  sur- 
^^  prised  by  such  or  such  an  accident ;  and,  afrer  the 
^'  like  vain  and  vicious  imaginations,  woidd  very  leam- 
**  edly,  by  this  hoarding  of  money,  provide  against 
*^  all  inconvenience^;    and  could  moreover  answer 
^^  such  as  objected  to  me,  that  the  number  of  them 
^^  was  too  infinite,  that  though  I  could  not  lay  up 
^^  for  all,  I  could,,  however,  do  it  at  least  for  some, 
^^  and  for  many."    Yet  was  not  this  done  without 
great  solicitude  and  anxiety.   I  kept  it  very  close,  and 
as  I  dare  speak  boldly  of  myself,  never  talked  of  my 
money,  but  as  others  do,  who,  being  rich,  pretend  to 
be  poor,  and  being  poor,  pretend  to  be  rich,  dis- 
pensing with  their  consciences  for  ever  telling  sin- 
cerely what  they  have.    A  ridiculous  and  shamefrii 
prudence !   Was  I  to  go  a  journey  ?  methought  I 

*  Sallusty  in  his  first  oration  to  Ctesar  de  Ordinanda  Repablica, 
sect.  i. 

f  Seneca,  ep.  74*  at  the  beginning,  where  you  will  see  that  Mon- 
tmgfxe  has  transposed  Seneca's  wor£,  to  apply  them  to  his  subject. 


^SO  THE  RELISH  OP  OOOD  AND  BVIL 

never  was  enough  provided :'  and  the  more  I  loaded 
myself  with  money,  the  more  also  was  I  loaded  with 
fear,  one  while  of  the  danger  of  the  roads,  another 
of  the  fidelity  of  him  who  had  the  charge  of  my 
sumpters,  of  whom,  as  some  others  that  1  know,  1 
was  mever  sufficiently  secure,  if  I  had  him  not  always 
in  my  eye.     If  I  chanced  to  leave  the  key  of  my 
cabinet  behind  me,  what  strange  iealousies,  a^ad  un- 
easy thoughts  was  I  possessed  wim  ?  and,  which  was 
worse,  without  daring  to  acquaint  any  body  with  the 
cause.      My  mind  was  eternally  tauken  up  in  this 
manner ;  so  that,  all  things  consid^ed,  there  is  more 
trouble  in  keeping  money  than  in  getting  it.     And  if 
I  did  not  altogether  a$  much  as  I  say,  yet  it  cost  me 
something  to  restrain  myself   from    doing    it.      I 
reaped  little  or  no  advantage  from  what  I  had,  and 
my  expenses  seem  nothing  less  to  me,  for  having  the 
more  to  spend :  for,  as  Bion  said,*  ^^  The  haiiy  men 
^^  are  as  angry  as  the  bald  to  be  pulled  ;*'  and  after 
you  are  once  accustomed  to  it,  and  set  your  heart 
upon  your  heap,  it  is  no  more  at  your  service,  you 
dare  not  diminish  it :  it  is  a  building  that  your  fimcy 
must  of  necessity  tumble  down,  if  you  do  but  toucn 
It.    Necessity  must  first  take  you  by  the  throat,  be- 
'^       fere  you  can  prevail  upon  yourself  to  lay  a  finger  on 
it :   and  I  would  sooner  have  pawned  any  thing  I 
had,  or  sold  a  house,  and  with  much  less  reluctance 
OF  constraint  upon  myself,  than  have  made  the  least 
breach  in  that  beloved  purse  I  had  so  carefiilly  laid 
by.     But  the  danger  was,  that  a  man  cannot  easily 

Erescribe  certain  limits  to  this  desire  (for  they  are 
ard  to  find  in  things  that  a  man  conceives  to  be 
good),  nor  stint  this  good  husbandry  so,  that  it  may 
not  degenerate  into  avarice :  men  being  still  intent 
upon  adding  to  the  heap,  and  increasing  the  stock 
from  sum  to  sum,  till  at  last  they  vilely  deprive 
themselves  of  the  enjoyment  of  their  own  proper 
goods,  and  throw  the  whole  into  reserve,  without 

*  Seneca,  in  his  Treatise  of  the  Tranquillity  of  the  Mind,  cap.  & 


UBWBNM  Vm  OPINION*  SSI 

m^hg  any  use  c£  them  at  all.  According  to  this 
rule,  mey  are  the  richest  people  in  the  world,  who 
are  set  to  guard  the  gates  and  walls  of  a  wealthy 
city.  All  moneyed  men  I  conclude  to  be  covetous. 
Plato  places  corporeal  or  human  benefit  in  this  or* 
der ;  health,  beauty,  strength,  and  wealth,  the  last  of 
which,  says  he,  ^^  is  not  blind,  but  very  clear* 
^^  s^hted,  when  illuminated  by  prudence.''  Diony* 
aius,  the  son,*  acted  with  a  good  grace.  He  was 
informed,  diat  one  of  his  Syracusians  had  buried 
some  treasure,  and  thereupon  sent  to  the  man  to 
bring  it  to  him,  which  he  accordingly  did,  privately 
reserving  a  small  part  of  it  only  to  himself,  wim 
which  he  went  to  another  city,  where,  having  lost  his 
appetite  of  hoarding,  he  b^an  to  live  at  a  more 
Jiberal  rate.  Which  Diohysius  hearing,  caused  the 
rest  of  his  treasure  to  be  restored  to  him,  saying, 
^  that  since  he  had  learned  how  to  use  it,  he  very 
**  willingly  returned  it  back  to  him." 

I  continued  some  years  in  this  hoarding  humour,  R^  mm. 
when  I  know  not  what  good  demon  fortunately  put^g^J^ 
me  out  of  it,  as  he  did  the  Syradusian,  and  made  ezpaiMi. 
me  scatter  abroad  all  that  I  had  saved ;  the  pleasure 
of  a  certain  voyage  I  took,  of  very  ^reat  expense, 
havinff  made  me  spurn  this  love  of  money  under 
fix)t,  by  which  means  I  am  now  fallen  into  a  third 
way  of  living  (I  speak  what  I  think  of  it),  doubtless 
miich  more  {feasant  and  moderate,  which  is,  that  I 
«pend  to  the  height  of  my  income ;  sometimes  the 
one,  sometimes  the  other  may  perhaps  excee^t 
but  it  is  very  little  that  they  differ  at  all ;  I  live 
£rom  hand  to  mouth,  and  content  myself  in  having 
auffident  for  my  present  and  ordinary  expense ;  finr 
as  to  extraordinary  occasions,  all  the  laying  up  in 
the  world  would  never  suffice ;  and  it  is  the  greatest 
£>ily  to  expect  that  fortune  should  ever  sufficiently 
^rm  us  against  herself.    It  is  with  our  own  weapons 

*  Or  Dionynus  the  father,  according  to  Plutarch^  in  the  Notable 
payings  of  Kings,  Princes,  and  Generals. 


*  SS2  TH£  BEUSH  OF  GOOD  AKI>  BTIL 

that  we  are  to  fight  her ;  accidental  ones  will  bebarf 
us  when  it  comes  to  the  pinch*  If  I  lay  up,  it  is 
not  to  buy  lands,  of  which  I  have  no  need,  Imt  to 
purchase  pleasure.  Non  esse  cu^idum^  pecurda .  est : 
non  esse  emacem  vectigal  est  :*  ^^  Kot  U>  pe  covetous, 
^^  is  wealth ;  not  to  be  a  purchaser,  is  a  tribute.*'  I 
am  in  no  fear  c^  wanting,  nor  desire  of  augmenting ; 
Divitiarum  fructus  est  in  copia ;  capiam  declarat 
satietas  :t  '^  The  fruits  of  riches  lie  in  abundance^ 
^^  and  satiety  declares  abundance."  And  I  am  par- 
ticularly pleased  with  myself,  that  this  reformadoa 
in  me  has  fallen  out  at  an  age  naturally  inclined  to 
avarice,  and  that  I  see  myself  cured  of  a  folly  so 
common  to  old  men,  and  of  all  human  follies  the 
most  ridiculous. 
A  fine  in.  Feraulcz,  a  man  that  had  run  through  fortunes, 
!h«  coi^  and  found  that  the  increase  of  substance  was  no  in* 
JJJjPj"^  crease  of  appetite,  either  with  respect  to  eating, 
drinking,  sleeping,  or  the  enjoyment  of  his  wife; 
and  who,  on  the  other  side,  felt  the  care  of  his 
economy  lie  heavy  upon  his  shoulders,  as  it  does  oh 
mine,  was  resolved  to  gratify  t  a  poor  young  man, 
his  ^thful  friend,  who  clamoured  fqr  riches,  by 
making  him  a  gift  of  all  his  wealth,  which  was  ex- 
cessively great  (and  which  he  was  in  the  wi^  of  ac- 
cumulating daily  by  the  liberality  of  Cyrus,  his  good 
master,  and  by  uie  war),  cpnditionally,  that  he  should 
take  care  to  maintain  him  handsomely  as  his  guest  and 
friend ;  and  they  afterwards  lived  very  happily  Uv 
gether,  equally  content  with  the  change  o£  their 
condition. 
Anotherin-  This  is  au  example  that  I  could  imitate  with  all 
fhe"«i^e  my  heart  And  I  very  much  approve  the  fortune  of 
purpose,  an  ancient  prelate,  who  absolutely  stripped  himself  of 
his  purse,  his  revenue,  and  care  of  his  expense; 
committing  them,  one  while  to  one  trusty  servant, 
and  another  wliile  to  another,  that  he  has  spun  out  a 

*  Cic.  Perad.  vi.  cap.  3.  f  Ibid,  ci^  2. 

X  See  Xenophon,  Cyropsedia,  lib.  viii.  cap.  3,  sect*  16— 9CX. 


DEPENDS  UPON  OPINION.  SS3 

iDng  tirack  of  years,  as  ignorant,  by  this  means,  of 
kis  domestic  affidrs  as  a  stranger.  A  confidence  in 
another  man's  virtue,  is  no  light  evidence  of  a  man's 
own;  therefore,  God  is  pleased  to  iavour  such  a 
confidence.  As  for  him. of  whom  I  am  speaking,  I 
see  no  where  a  better  governed  fitmily,  or  one  that  as 
more  decently  maintained  than  his ;  happy  in  having 
stated  his  affidrs  to  so  ^ust  a  proportion,  that  his 
estate  is  sufficient  to  do  it  without  his  care  or  trou- 
ble, and  without  any  hindrance,  either  in  the  spend- 
ing or  laying  it  up,  to  his  other  more  agreeable  and 
qiiiet  emph)yments. 

Plenty  then  and  poverty  depend  upon  the  opinion  wihai«ii. 
everyone  has  of  them;  and  riches,  no  more  than^^*^JJJ 
glory  or  health,  have  more  of  either  beauty  or  orind^cett. 
pleasure,  than  he  by  whom  they  are  possessed  is 
pleased  to  imagine  in  them.     Every  one  is  well  or  iU 
at  ease,  according  as  he  finds  himself:  not  he  whom 
liie  world  believes,  but  he  who  believes  himself  to 
be  so,  is  content ;  and  in  this  alone,  belief  gives 
itself  being  and  reality.    Fortune  does  neither  good 
nor  hurt ;  she  only  presents  us  the  matter,  and  the 
seed,  wluch  our  soul,  more  powerfully  than  she, 
turns  and  applies  as  she  best  pleases ;  being  the  sole 
cause  and  mistress  of  her  own  happy  or  unhappy 
condition.     All  external  accessions  receive  taste  and 
colour  fix)m  the  internal  constitution,    as  clothes 
warm  us,  not  with  their  heat,  but  our  own,  which 
they  are  fit  to  cover  and  nourish  ;  and  he  that  would 
cover  a  cold  body,  would  do  the  same  service  for 
the  cold,  for  thus  snow  and  ice  are  preserved.*     In 
the  same  manner  as  study  is  a  torment  to  a  truant, 
abstinence  firom  wine  to  a  good  fellow,  frugality  to 
the  spendthrift,  and  exercise  to  a  lazy,  tender-bred 
fellow ;  so  it  is  of  all  the  rest     Things  are  not  so 
painful  and  difficult  of  themselves,  but  our  weakness 

*  It  appears  Uiat  Montaigne  has  taken  all  that  follow*,  to  the  end 
nf  this  paragraph,  firom  a  beautiful  passage  in  Seneca's  epistle  81. 


984  GOOD  AND  £Vlt  DEPEND  UPON  OPlNIONU 

or  cowardice  makes  them  so.    To  judge  of  great 
and  high  matters,  requires  a  suitable  soul;  otherwise 
we  attribute  the  vice  to  them,  which  is  really  our 
own.    A  strait  oar  seems  crooked  in  the  water :  it 
is  not  only  of  importance  that  we  see  the  thing,  but 
in  what  manner  we  see  it.    * 
jie  BotioD     Well  then,  why  amongst  so  many  discourses,  that 
what  u  if"  by  so  many  arguments  persuade  men  to   despise 
foimdcd.    death  and  endure  pain,  can  we  not  find  out  one  that 
.  makes  for  us  ?  and  of  so  many  sorts  of  imaginations 
as  have  prevailed  upon  others,  as  to  persuade  them 
to  do  so,  why  does  not  every  person  apply  some  one 
to  himself  tne  most  suitable  to  his  own  humour  ?  If 
he  cannot  away  with  a  strong  working  apozem  to 
eradicate  the  evil,  let  him  at  least  take  a  lenitiye  to 
ease  it.     Opinio  est  quadam  effeminata^  ac  lexds :  nee 
in  dolore  magis^  quam  eadem  in  *ooluptate :  qua  quum 
liquescimus  fluimttsque  mollitid^    apis  aculeum  »ne 
clamore  ferre  non  possumus. — Totum  in  eo  estj  ut  tibi 
imperes  :•  **  There  is  a  certain  fiivolous  and  efiemi* 
^  nate  opinion,  and  that  not  more  in  pain  than  it  is 
**  even  in  pleasure  itself,  by  which,  whilst  we  roD 
*^  in  ease  and  wantonness,   we  cannot  endure  so 
^^  much  as  the  sting  of  a  bee,  without  roaring.    The 
**  whole  secret  lies  in  this,  to  command  thysdf."  As 
to  the  rest,  a  man  does  not  transgress  philosophy,  by 
crying  out  against  the  acrimony   of    pains,    and 
human  frailty  so  much  beyond  measure ;   for  they 
must  at  last  be  reduced  to  these  invincible  replies. 
If  it  be  ill  to  live  in  necessity,  at  least  there  is  no 
necessity  upon  a  man  to  live  m  necessity.    No  man 
continues  lU  long,  but  by  his  own  fault.     He  who 
has  neither  the  courage  to  die,  nor  the  heart  to  live ; 
who  will  neither  resist  nor  fly,  what  should  be  done 
to  him. 

*  Cic.  Tuflc.  Quaest.  lib.  ii.  cqp.  2% 


A  UASSt^S  HOKOUB  NOT  TO  BE  COMMUNICATED,  93S 


CHAPTER  XLL 

One  Mavfs  Honour  not  to  be  communicated  to 
another. 

\jT  all  the  follies  of  the  worid,  that  which  is  mostT««e  «u»*r 
tinivetsally  received,  is  the  solicitude  for  reputation  f/*^^ 
and  glory,  which  we  are  fond  of  to  that  degree,  as 
to  a^ndon  riches,  peace,  life,  and  health,  much  are 
effectual  and  substantial  goods,  to  pursue  this  vaia 
phantom,  this  mere  echo,  that  has  neither  body  nor 
hold  to  be  taken  of  it : 

La  Jama  cK  nwaehisce  a  un  dolce  suono 
Cli  saperli  mortaUy  et  pat^  si  lella 
'  jB  vn  echo,  un  sogno,  anzi  d^un  segno  urt  omhra 
Ch*  ad  ogni  vento  si  dSegua,  et  sgombraJ^ 

Glory,  whose  sweet  and  captivating  sound 
Endiants  proud  mortals  all  the  world  aax)and, 
b  but  an  «dio,  ^ream,  or  pfatfintoia  fiiir, 
M OF*d  and  dispen'd  by  er  ly  breath  of  dr. 

And  of  all  the  unreasonable  humours  of  men,  it 
seems  that  this  continues  longer,  even  with  philo- 
sophers themselves,  than  any  other,  and  that  they 
have  the  most  adot  to  disengage  themselves  from 
this,  as  the  most  resty  and  obstinate  of  all  human 
follies.  Quia  etiam  bene  projicicfites  animos  tentare 
non  cessat  :t  **  Because  it  continually  tempts  even 
**  virtuous  minds."  There  is  not  any  Mie  folly,  of 
which  reason  so  clearly  blames  the  vanity,  as  this ; 
tut  it  is  so  deeply  rooted  in  us,  that  I  dare  not  de- 
termine, whether  any  one  ever  totally  divested  him- 

*  Tasso,  canto  14,  stanza  63,  Gierusalemme  iiberata.  * 
j|  **  Etiam  sapientibus  cupido  gloriae  novissima  exuitur."  The 
denre  of  gli>i[T  is  tfe  last  passion  of  which  even  wise  men  can  divest 
tbemsdvesy  Tacit,  lib.  iv.  I  question  whether  Montaigne  had  this 
passage  in  view;  for  it  is  so  beautiful,  that  if  he  had  tlu»ught  of  it. 
I  fancy  he  could  not  haveomitted  to  quote  it, 
i  Aug.  d^  Civil;  Dei,  13>.  v.  09^^  H« 


Si6  A  man's  HOKOUtt 

self  of  it.  After  you  have  said  and  done  all  yoil 
can  to  disclaim  it,  it  so  strongly  opposes  your  argu« 
ments,  that  you  are  hardly  able  to  resist  it :  for  • 
(as  Cicero  says)  even  those  who  condemn  it,  choose 
that  the  books  they  write  should  bear  their  own 
names  in  the  front,  and  seek  to  derive  glory  firom 
seeming  to  despise  it.  All  other  things  are  cooimu- 
nicable ;  in  commerce,  we  lend  our  goods,  and  ^take 
our  lives  for  the  necessity  of  our  friends ;  but  to 
communicate  a  man's  honour,  and  to  robe  another 
with  a  man's  own  glory,  is  very  rarely  seen.  And 
yet  we  have  some  examples  of  that  kind. 

Catulus  Luctatius,  in  the  Cimbrian  war,  having 
done  all  in  his  power  to  stop  his  soldiers  flying  from 
iiis  enemy,  ran  away  himself  at  last,t  and  counter- 
feited the  cowfird,  that  his  men  might  rather  seem  to 
follow  their  captain,  than  to  fly  from  the  enemy; 
which  was  abandoning  his  own  reputation,  to  hide 
the  shame  of  others.  When  Charles  the  6Mi  came 
into  Provence,  in  the  year  1537,  it  is  said,  that  An- 
tonio de  Leva  seeing  the  emperor  positively  resolved 
upon  this  expedition,  and  believing  it  would  redound 
veiT  much  to  his  honour,  did  nevertheless  oppose 
and  dissuade  him  from  it,  to  the  end  that  the  entire 
glory  of  that  resolution  should  be  attributed  to  his 
master ;  and  that  it  might  be  said,  his  own  opinion 
and  foresight  had  been  such,  as  that  contrary  to  the 
sentiments  of  all,  he  had  brought  about  so  noble  an 
enterprise ;  which  was  really  doing  him  honour  at 
his  own  expense, 
^iimteor  The  Thracian  ambassadors,  coming  to  comfort 
J^eli*  Archileonida,  the  mother  of  Brasidas,  upon  the 
i9M^  death  of  her  son,  and  commending  him  so  much,  as 
to  saj  he  had  not  left  his  like  behind  him ;  she  re- 
jected this  private  and  particular  commendation  to 

*  **  Ipsi  illi  phQoBophiy  etiam  illis  libellia  quos  de  contenmendA 
**  gIori&  scribunt,  nomen  suum  inscribunt ;  in  eo  ipso  in  quo  pnedi- 
**  cationem  nobilitalemque  despiciunt,  praBdicari  de  se  ac  nomiBwi 
**  volunt.*'    Orat.  pro  ArchiA  Poet6»  cap.  11,  edit.  Gronov. 

f  Plutarch,  in  we  Life  of  Caius  Marius,  cap.  8. 


li'bT  TO  BE  COMMtJKiCATED;  387 

dttf  ibute  it  to  the  public :  **  Tell  me  not  that,"  said 
she,  "  I  know  the  city  of  Sparta  has  several  citizens 
greater  and  more  valiant  than  he  was.**  * 

In  the  battle  of  Cressy,t  the  prince  of  Wales,  EdwaW 
being  then  very  young,  had  the  vanguard  committed  "i;^'^!? 
to  him,  where  the  main  stress  of  the  battle  happened  the  ^oDonr 
to  be,  which  made  the  lords  that  were  with  him,  t^oijlj^hb 
&iding  themselves  overmatched,  send  to  king  Ed*  •««• 
ward,t  begging  that  he  would  please  to  advance  to 
their  relief;  who  thereupon  inquiring  of  the  condi^ 
tion  his  son  was  in,  and  being  answered  that  he  was  yet 
living,  and  on  horse^back ;  "  I  should  then  do  him 
"  wrong,**  said  the  king,  "  now  to  go,  and  deprive 
**  him  of  the  honour  of  winning  this  battle  which  he 
**  has  so  long  disputed ;  what  hazard  soever  he  runs, 
^*  the  victory  shall  be  entirely  his  own,**  Accord- 
ingly he  would  neither  go  nor  send,  knowing  that  if 
he  went,  it  would  be  said  all  had  been  lost  without 
his  succour,  and  that  the  honour  of  the  victory 
would  be  attributed  to  his  majesty.  Semper  enim 
quod  postremum  adjectum  est^  id  rem  totam  videtur 
traxisse :  "  For  the  last  stroke  to  a  business  seems 
*'  always  to  draw  along  with  it  the  merit  of  the 
*^  whole  action.**  Many  at  Rome  thought,  and 
frequently  said,  that  the  noblest  of  Scipio's  actions 
were,  in  part,  due  to  Lelius,  whose  constant  practice 
it  was,  nevertheless,  to  advance  and  support  Scipio's 
grandeur  and  renown,  without  any  care  of  his  own. 
And  Theopompus,  king  of  Sparta,  when  a  person 
told  him  the  republic  stood  it  out,  because  he  knew  so 
well  how  to  command;  "  It  is  rather,**  answered 
he,  "  because  the  people  know  so  well  how  to 
obey.**§ 

As  women  succeeding  to  peerages,  had,  notwith- 
standing their  sex,  the  privilege  to  assist  and  give  in 
their  votes,  in  causes  appertaining  to  the  jurisdiction 

*  Plutarch,  in  the  Notable  Sayings  of  the  Lacedsmomans,  at 
the  article  Brasida$. 

t  In  1346.  t  Froissart,  vol.  i.  cap.  30. 

§  Plutarch,  in  the  article  Theopompus. 
VOL.  I.  2 


SS8  A  MAn^S  HONOtft  NOT  Td  B£  tOmitMCATttf^ 

6f  peers;  so  the  ecclesiastical  peers^  notwithstand* 
ing  their  profession,  were  obliged  to  assist  oiir  kings 
in  their  wars,  not  only  with  their  friends  and  servants^ 
toa^nct  of  but  in  their  own  persons ;  as  the  bishop  of  Beauvais 
SitlfuT'did,  who,  beinff  with  PhiHp  Augustus  at  the  battie 
of  BoiK  of  Bouvines,*  had  a  notable  share  in  that  action^ 
but  he  did  not  think  it  fk;  for  him  to  participate  in 
the  fhiit  and  ^ory  of  that  violent  and  bloody  exer- 
cise. He,  with  his  own  hand,  reduced  seversJ  of  the 
enemy  that  day  to  his  mercy,  whom  he  delivered  to 
the  first  gentleman  he  met,  either  to  kill,  or  receive 
them  to  quarter,  referring  the  whole  execution  to 
his  hand.  Thus  also  did  William,  earl  of  Salisbury, 
to  M.  Jean  de  Nesle ;  who,  with  equal  subtlety  of  con* 
science,  would  kill,  but  not  wound,  an  enemy,  and 
for  that  reason  never  fought  but  with  a  club.t    And 

«  Between  Liale  and  Toumay,  in  1214* 

t  That  18  to  say,  **  By  a  salTo  of  conscience,  like  to  tfait  other 
^  which  I  just  now  mentioned,  this  bishop  chose  to  knock  on  the 
**  head,  &c/'  In  fact,  this  odier  salvo,  which  Montaigne  had  just 
attributed  to  the  bishop  of  Beauvais,  was  not  more  frivoknis  than 
this,  by  which  this  same  bishop  made  no  scf-upkrto  knoick  those  oo 
the  head,  whom  he  did  not  choose  to  wound  or  kill  with  a  swonL 
For  the  bishop  of  Beauvais  is  btended  in  the  latter  case,  as  well  as 
in  the  former :  '*  At  the  battle  of  Bouvines,  MezeiUy  expressly 
**  says,  Philip,  bishop  of  Beauvais^  brother  to  that  king,  did 
^  not  strike  with  a  sword^  but  with  a  club ;  thinking  that  loiock- 
^*  ing  a  man  on  the  head  was  not  spilline  his  blood*" — ^Mr.  CoCton« 
the  last  translator  of  these  Essays  into  English,  has  cpnfbuoded  thii 
jwssage  entirely ;  for  his  not  comprehending  that  this  latter  salvo 
of  conscience  nad  relation  to  the  oishop  of  Beautais^  in  the  samo 
manner  as  the  former,  instead  of  delivering  up  William  earl  of  Sa- 
lisbury to  M.  John  de  Nesle,  he  tells  us,  **  That  William  earl  of  Sa* 
**  liibury  made  use  of  a  salvo  of  cpnscience,  with  regard  to  M •  John 
^  d6  Nesle,  like  to  the  other  whom  we  named  a^ve :  he  would 
^  (continues  Mr.  Cotton)  kill,  but  not  wound  him ;  and  for  that 
.**  reaspn  never  fouglit  with  a  mace.'*  By  the  mannef  in  which  this 
translator  speaks  here  of  thb  earl  of  Salisbury^  one  would  be  apt  to 
say,  that  he  only  engaged  in  this  battle  to  kill  John  de  Nesle.  ^ese 
are  Mr.  Cotton^s  own  words.  **  As  also  did  William  earl  of  Sal»* 
**  bury  to  Messire  Jean  de  Nesle,  with  a  tike  subtlety  of  conscience  to 
**  the  other  we  named  before ;  he  would  kill  but  not  wound  him, 
**  and  for  that  reason  never  fought  with  a  mace."" — The  confosioii 
which  I  discover  this  ingenious  translator  to  be  in  at  this  passage, 
makes  me  a  little  diffident  of  myself.    But  though  in  all  the  e2u- 


OF  1KEQUALITT4  839 


a  certain  person  of  my  time,  being  reproached  by 
the  king,  that  he  had  laid  hands  on  a  priest,  posi- 
tively  dented  the  fact ;  affirming  he  had  oidy  cud« 
gdled  and  kicked  him. 


CHAPTER  XLIL 

Of  the  Inequality  amongst  us^ 

J:  I^UTARCH  sajrs  somewhere,*  that  he  does  hotfiKmo^A. 
find  so  great  a  diflerence  between  beast  and  beast,'  JnJg^,^ 
as  he  does  between  man  and  man.    Which  is  said  in  betweeo 
reference  to  the  internal  qualities  and  perfections  of  ^ 

tioDB  of  Montaigtie>  which  I  have  seetii  it  is  said,  **  With  a  salvo 
'*  of  conscience  like  to  this  other/'  I  think  I  may  venture  to  affirm 
that  Montaigne's  expression,  **  of  a  salvo  of  conscience  like  to  this 
*'  other,"  means  to  this  other  salvo  of  the  bishop  of  Beau^rais ;  and 
that  he  would  have  us  to  understand  here,  that  by  a  cunnine  satvo^ 
like  to  that  which  he  had  just  mentioned,  the  same  bishop  of  Beau- 
vais  was  desirous  to  knock  on  the  head,  but  not  to  wound ;  havings 
for  that  very  reason,  fought  only  with  a  club.^*-As  for  WDUam,  earl 
of  Salisbury,  it  does  not  appear  that  he  had  the  same  scruple  at  the 
battle  of  Biouvines  as  the  bishop  of  Beauvais.  It  is  certain,  at  leasts 
that  this  bishop  took  the  earl  or  Salisbury,  and  delivered  him  prisoner 
to  John  de  Nesle.  This  i»  what  Montaigne  says  very  clearly,  be* 
fore  he  mentioned  this  other  cunning  salvo  of  conscience  which  en<* 
gaged  the  bishop  of  Beauvais  to  fiffht  only  with  a  dub.  And  all 
that  Montaipie  has  here  advanced  is  vety  positively  asserted  in  his« 
tory.  "  William  of  Brittany,*'  says  John  de  Tillet,  "  in  his  history 
^*  of  king  Philip  Augustus,  makes  mention  of  the  bishop  of  Beau^ 
**  vais,  a  prince  of  the  blood,  brother  to  the  count  de  Dreux,  9 
**  peer  of  France ;  who,  being  at  the  battle  of  Pont  de  Bouvines, 
*'  with  the  said  Philip  Au^tus,  did,  with  one  stroke  of  a  club. 
**  knock  down  cotmt  Wilbam,  sumamed  Longspear,  the  basturd 
'*  brother  of  the  king  of  England,  and  commanded  M.  John  de 
**  Nesle,  knight,  to  make  him  his  prisoner.  The  like  did  he  with 
'*  regard  to  many  others,  whom  he  bid  sprawling  on  the  graund : 
**  forasmuch  as  he  was  an  ecclesiastic,  the  praise  of  his  feats  of 
**  arms  is  given  as  it  were  to  others,  and  he  only  chose  to  fight  with 
**  a  club,  that  he  mifht  demolish  without  killing."  Tillet's  Me* 
snoirs,  p.  220,  printed  at  Troyes,  1578. 

*  At  the  end  of  hjs  Treatise  of  Brutes  having  the  use  of  Reason^ 

Z2 


340  OF  iKSaUALITT* 

the  soul.  And,  in  truth,  I  find  (according  to  my 
poor  judgment)  so  vast  a  distance  between  Epa- 
minondas,  and  some  that  I  know  (who  are  yet  men 
of  common  sense),  that  I  could  willingly  improve 
upon  Plutarch,  and  say,  that  there  is  more  diflference 
between  such  and  such  a  man,  than  there  is  between 
such  a  man  and  such  a  beast : 

Hem  !  vir  viro  quid  prcpsiat.* 

What  great  disparity  among  men  we  find ! 

And  that  there  are  as  many  degrees^  of  wits,  as  there 
are  cubits  between  this  and  heaven.  But,  as  touch- 
ing the  estimate  of  men,  it  is  strange  that,  ourselves 
excepted,  no  other  creature  is  esteemed  beyond  its 
proper  qualities.  We  commend  a  horse  for  its 
strength  and  sureness  of  foot : 

■  Volucrem 

Si  laudamus  eouumj  facili  cut  phurima  palma 
Fcrvety  et  exuitat  rauco  victoria  circa.f 

So  we  for  speed  commend  the  horse  that  gains 
Successive  prizes  in  the  dusty  plains, 
And  which  the  trumpets  in  the  circle  grace, 
With  their  loud  clangors  for  his  well-run  race : 

and  not  for  his  rich  caparisons  ;  a  greyhound  for  his 
share  of  heels,  not  for  his  fine  collar  ;  a  hawk  for  her 
A  man  to   wing,  uot  for  her  gesscs  and  bells.     Why,  in  like 
fo/whathcinanner,  do  we  not  value  a  man  for  what  is  properly 
has  In  him,  his  owrt  ?  hc  has  a  great  train,  a  beautiful  palace,  so 
Vhauchaimuch  Credit,  such  a  revenue:  all  these  are  about 
about  him.  ^{^[1,  but  uot  in  him.     You  will  not  buy  a  pig  in  a 
poke :  if  you  cheapen  a  horse,  you  have  him  stripped 
of  his  housing-clothes,  that  he  may  appear  naked  and 
open  to  your  eye ;  or  if  he  be  clothed,t  as  they 
anciently  were  wont  to  present  to  princes  to  sell,  it 
is  only  on  the  less  important  parts,  that  you  may  not 
:  so  much  consider  the  beauty  of  his  colour,  or  the 
breadth  of  his  crupper,  as  to  examine  his  legs,  eyes^ 
and  feet,  which  are  the  members  of  greatest  use  : 

*  Ten  Eunuch,  act-  ii.  seen.  iii.  ver.  1. 

f  Juvenal,  sat.  viii.  ver.  57.  t  Idem,  ibid* 


OF  INEQUALITY*  841 

Regibus  hie  mos  esty  ubi  equos  mercantiiTy  opertos 
*  SMpiciuni,  ne  si  fades ,  ni  scepCj  decora 
MoUi  fuUa  pede  est,  empiorem  inducai  hiantem, 
Quodpulchrm  dunes,  breve  quod  caput,  ordua  cervix.* 

When  skilful  jockeys  would  a  courser  buy^ 

They  strip  him  naked,  head,  back,  breast,  and  thigh ; 

For  oft  an  eager  chapman  is  betray'd, 

To  buy  a  fouqder'd  or  a  spavin'd  jade. 

While  he  admires  a  thin,  light-shoulder'd  chesty 

A  little  head,  broad  back,  and  rising  crest. 

Why,t  in  givdn^  your  estimate  of  a  man,  do  you 
prize  him  .wrapped  and  muffled  up  in  clothes  ?  He 
then  discovers  nothing  to  you,  but  such  parts  as  are 
not  in  the  least  his  own ;  and  conceals  those,  by 
which  alone  one  may  rightly  judge  of  his  value.  It 
is  the  price  of  the  blade  that  yoii  inquire  into,  and 
not  of  the  scabbard :  you  would  not  perhaps  bid  a 
farthing  for  him,  if  you  saw  him  stripjped.  You  are 
to  judge  of  him  by  himself,  and  not  by  what  he 
wears.  And  as  one  of  th?  ancients  very  pleasantly 
said,  do  you  know  why  you  repute  him  tall?  You 
reckon  the  height  of  the  pattins,t  whereas  the 
pedestal  is  no  part  of  the  stature.  Measure  him 
without  his  stilts,  let  him  lay  aside  his  revenues,  and 
his  titles,  let  him  present  himself  in  his  shirt,  then 
examine  if  his  body  he  sound  and  sprightly,  active, 
and  disposed  to  perform  its  function  ?  What  mind 
has  he  ?  Is  it  beautiful,  capable,  and  happily  provided 
of  all  its  faculties  ?  Is  it  rich  in  what  is  its  own,  or 
in  what  it  has  borrowed?  Has  fortune  no  hand  in 
the  affair  ?  Can  it,  without  winking,  face  the  lightn- 
ing of  swords ;  is  it  indifferent  whether  life  expire 
by  the  mouth  or  the  throat  ?  Is  it  settled,  even,  and 
content  ?§  That  is  what  is  to  be  examined,  and  by 
feat  you  are  to  judge  of  the  v^st  difference  between 
man  and  man.     Is  he 

*  Hor.  lib.  i.  sect.  2,  ver.  86,  &c* 

f  **  Equum  empturus  solvi  jubes  Btratum,"   ftc.-^**  Homiheia 
'*  involutum  sestifiiaaf''     Seneca,  epist.  80. 
X  ^'QuaremagqiUfvideturf^CumbasiilluinsuainetirL''  Id.ep.T6« 
f  Sene^ 


542  OF  INEQUALITY* 


Sapiensjsibi  qui  mpemsm 


Quern  neque  pauperieSf  neque  morsj  ne^viacula  teneni^ 
Mspansare  cupiaimbus^  contemnere  konores 
Fortisj  et  in  seijiso  iotus  teres  atque  roiundus, 
Extemi  neqwa  valeat  per  Iceve  morari^ 
In  quern  manca  ruU  semper  fortuna  f * 

The  man  is  truly  wise  that  can  control^ 
And  govern  all  the  passions  of  his  soul ; 
Whom  poverty^  nor  chains,  nor  death  aflfirig^t, 
Who*s  proof  against  the  charms  of  vam  delight; 
Who  can  ambitbn^s  noblest  gifts  despise^ 
Firm  in  himself  who  on  himself  relies : 
PolishM,  and  round,  who  runs  his  proper  coursCj 
And  breaks  misfortune  with  superior  force. 

Such  a  man  is  raised^  five  hundred  fathoms  abov6 
kingdoms  and  duchies,  he  is  an  absolute  monarch 
himself: 

Sapiens  pel  ipse  Jbigiijhriunam  siln.f 
The  wise  man  his  own  fortune  makes. 

tVhat  remains  for  him  to  covet  or  desire  ? 


Ninme  tndemus 


NU  aliud  siln  naiwram  ktrare,  msi  ni  quoi 
Corpore  sejunctus  doU^  absit,  mentejruatur 
Jucundo  sensuj  cura  semoHts  metuque.X 

We  see  that  nature  only  seeks  for  ease, 
A  body  free  from  pains,  free  from  disease 
A  mind  from  cares  and  jealousies  at  peace. 

Compare  with  such  a  one,  the  common  rabble  of 
mankind,  stupid  and  mean-spirited,  servile,  instable, 
and  continually  floating  with  the  tempest  of  various 
passions,  that  tosses  and  tumbles  them  to  and  fit), 
and  all  depending  upon  others ;  and  you  will  find  a 
greater  distance  between  them,  than  between  heaven 
and  earth ;  and  yet  so  blind  are  we,  that  we  make 
little  or  no  account  of  it.  Whereas,  if  we  consider 
a  peasant  and  a  king,  a  nobleman  and  a  vassal,  a 
magistrate  and  a  private  man,  a  rich  man  and  a  poor 

*  Horace,  lib.  ii.  sat  7,  ver.  8S,  te. 
f  Plaut.  Tri.  act.  ii.  seen.  %  ver.  8^. 
X  Lucret.  lib.  ii.  ver.  16,  &c. 


OF  INEQUALirr.  S48 

one,  there  appears  a  vwt  disparity ,  though  theydifier 
no  more  (as  a  man  may  say)  than  in  their  breeches. 

In  Thrace,  the  king  was  distinguished  from  hiswbmia 
people  after  a  very  pleasant  and  odd  manner :  he  had^^j^^ 
a  rdigion  by  himself,  a  God  too,  all  his  own,  and<ii<ts»- 
which  his  subjects  were  not  to  adore,  viz.  Mercury ;  SSIlIdT« 
whilst,  on  the  other  hand,  he  disdained  to  have  any  f^ro»  ^^^ 
thing  to  do  with  theirs.  Mars,  Bacchus,  and  Diana.*  MittfMti. 
And  yet  they  are  no  other  than  pictures,  that  make 
no  essential  difference ;  for  as  you  see  actors  in  a 
play,  representing  the  person  of  a  duke  or  an  em- 
peror,  upon  the  stage,  and  immediately  after,  in  the 
tiring-room,  return  to  dieir  true  and  original  con- 
dition, of  footmen  and  porters;    so  the  emperor, 
whose  pomp  so  dazzles  you  in  public,  * 

ScUiceij  eterandes  viridi  cum  luce  sman^di 
Auro  mciuauniwr^  teriiurque  Thalassma  vestis 
Assidue,  et  veneris  sudorem  exerciia  poioi.f 

Rings,  with  great  emeralds,  are  in  gold  enchast^ 
To  dart  green  lustre :  and  the  sea-green  vest 
Continuity  is  worn  and  rubb'd  to  frets. 
Whilst  it  imbibes  the  juice  ^t  Venus  sweats. 

if  you  will  only  peep  behind  the  curtain,  you  will  «■«■  ha. 
find  nothing  more  than  an  ordinary  man,  and,  per-'j^e^ 
haps,  more  contemptible  than  the  meanest  or  his«owa>Mi 
subjects.    lUebeatus  introrsum  estj  istius  bracteata^^^^ 
/elicit as  esttX    ^  True  happiness   lies  within    his"»n. 
**  breast ;    the  other  is  but  a  counterfeit  felicity.'* 
Cowardice,  irresolution,  ambition,  spite,  and  envy^ 
are  as  predominant  in  him,  as  in  another : 

Non  erAm  gaxie,  neyue  consularis 
Summoveihictar,  mtseros  iumulius 
Mentis,  et  euros  laqueatadrcwn 

Tecta  volantes*i 

*  Herodotus,  indeed,  says  (lib.  ▼.  p.  SSI),  that  the  Thracian 
kings  worshipped  Mercury  at>ove  all  other  gods,  that  they  only  swore 
by  him  alone,  and  pretended  to  be  descen&d  from  him ;  but  ne  does 
not  say  that  they  despised  Mars,  Bacchus,  and  Diana,  the  only 
deities  of  dieir  subjects. 

f  Lucret.  lib.  iy.yer.  1119,  &c«  %  Seneca,  ep.  115. 

§  Horace,  lib.  iL  ode  16,  ver.  11,  &c 


S%«.  OT  mEQUALITT.: 

For  neither  weakh  nor  pow't  control 
The  wretched  tumults  of  the  soul ; 
Or  force  those  cares  to  stand  aloof^ 
Which  hover  round  ihe  vaulted  roof. 

Care  ftnd  fear  attack  him,  even  in  the  centre  of  his 
b^,ttalion$ : 

Re  ver^qtie  metus  komimanj  cvreBqtte  sequaces^ 
Nee  mettamt  soniius  eamorum,  nee  fera  tela, 
Atidacterque  inter  regesy  rerurnque  potentes 
FersantuTj  neque  Jidgorem  reverentur  ab  auro.* 

For  fearsi  and  caresj  warring  \yith  human  hearts^ 
Dread  not  the  clash  of  arms^  nor  points  of  darta; 
But  with  great  kings  and  potentates  make  hold, 
Spite  of  their  purple,  and  their  glittering  gold^ 

t)o  fevers,  gouts,  and  the  head-ach,  spare  them  any 
more  than  one  of  us  ?  When  old  age  hangs  heavy 
upon  a  prince's  shoulders,  can  the  yeomen  of  his 
guard  ease  him  of  the  burden  ?  When  lie  is  astonished 
-  with  the  apprehension  of  deaths  can  the  gendemen 
of  his  bedchamber  secure  him  ?  When  jealousy,  or 
any  other  capricio  swims  in  his  brain,  can  our  fine 
compliments  restore  him  to  his  good  humour  ?  The 
canopy  embroidered  with  pearl  and  gold^  which  he 
lies  under,  has  no  \irtue  to  ease  fits  of  the  cholic : 

Nee  ealidce  cttms  decedunt  corpore  felres 
Textilibus  si  inpic(uris,  ostroqtie  rubenti 
Jajcierisy  qudm  si  pkleia  in  veste  cahandum  est.f 

Nor  sooner  will  a  bed  superb  assuage 
The  dreadful  symptoms  of  a  fever's  rage, 
1" han  if  the  homely  couch  were  meanly  spread 
With  poorest  blankets  of  the  coai-sest  thread. 

Alexander  The  flattcrcrs  of  Alexander  the  Great  possessed  him 
g?miitrco"riithat  he  was  the  son  of  Jupiter:  but  being  one  day 
turir  flat-  wouudcd,  and  observing  the  blood  stream  from  his 
ttrers.  ^Qund :  "  What  s^iy  you  now,'*t  said  he,  "  is  uot 
.**  this  blood  of  a  crimson  colour,  and  purely  human  ? 

*  Lucret  lib,  ii.  ver.  47,  cVc.  f  Idem,  lib.  ii.  ver.  3*,  &c. 

X  Plutarch,  in  the  Notable  Sayings  of  the  ancient  Kmgs,  &c.  ui 
^he  article  of  Akxandcr, 


OF  INEQUALITY.  ^45 

*«  This  is  liot  of.  the  complexion  with  ihat  which 
**  Homer  makes  to  issue  from  the  woundei  Gods.** 
The. poet  Hermedorus*  had  wirote  a  poem  in  honour 
of  Anti^nus,  wherein  he  called  him  the  son  of  the 
sun :  ^But  whoever  empties  ray  close-stool/'  said 
Antigonus,  "  knows  the  contrary."/ He  is  but  a 
man  at  best ;  and  if  he  be  ill  qualified  from  his  birth, 
the  empire  of  the  universe  capnot  set  him  to  rights : 

'    ■  ■     ^—  VuellcB 

Hunc  rapianlf  quidquid  cukaverit  hie,  rosa  Jiat.f 

Though  mmds  should  ravish  him,  and  where  he  goes^ 
In  every  step  he  takes  should  spring  a  rose. 

What  of  all  thiat,  if  he  be  9.  fool  and  a  sot  ?   even  in  what 
pleasure  and  good  fortune  are  not  relished  without  fe°J|j,]l^f 
vigour  and  understanding :  fortune  «• 

H(BC  perinde  suntj  ut  illm  animus,  qui  ea  possidef. 
Qui  uti  sciij  ei  bona,  Hit,  qui  nm  uiiiur  recte^  mala.X 
Things  to  the  owners'  minds  their  merit  square^ 
Good  if  well  used,  if  ill,  they  evils  ai  e. 

Whatever  the*  benefits  of  fortune  are,  they  yet  re- 
quire a  palate  fit  to  relish  them  :  it  is  fruition,  ^nd 
liot  mere  possession,  that  renders  us  happy  ; 

Nim  domus,  et  fundus,  turn  eeris  acervus,  et  auri, 

jEgroto  dommi  deduxit  corpore  febres. 

Nan  animo  euros ;  valeat  possessor  oportet. 

Qui  comportaiis  rebus  bene  cogitat  uti, 

C^i  cupii,  out  fnetuit,  jtwai  ulum  sic  domus  out  res^ 

Ut  lippum  pictce  tabulce,  /omenta  podagram.^ 

Nor  house,  nor  lands,  nor  heaps  of  lahour'd  ore 
Can  give  the  fev'rish  lord  one  ipomeni's  rest, 
I  '       Or  drive  one  sorrow  from  his  anxious  breast : 
V  The  rich  possessor  must  be  bless'd  with  health. 

To  reap  the  comforts  of  his  hoarded  wealth. 
He  that  desires  or  fears,  diseased  in  mind. 
Wealth  profits  him,  as  pictures  do  the  blind;^ 
Or  plasters  gouty  feet,  &c. 

*  Plutarch,  in  the  Notable  Sayings  of  the  ancient  Kings,  &c.  ki 
fhe  article  of  Antigonut. 
f  Pers.  sat.  ii.  ver.  38,  39. 
X  Ter.  Heaut.  act.  i.  ibc.  2,  v^r,  21,  22.  §  Hor.  lib*  i«  ep«  2^ 


34S  OF  INEQUAUrr»< 

He  Is  a  sot,  his  taste  ia  palled  and  flat ;  he  no  more 
enjoys  what  he  has,  than  one  that  has  a  cold  relishes 
the  flavour  of  canary ;  or  than  a  horse  is  sensible  of 
his  rich  accoutrements.  Plato,  therefore,  is  in  the 
right,  when  he  tells  us,  that  health,  beauty,*  strength, 
riches,  and  aU  things  called  good,  are  equally  evil  to 
the  unjust,  as  good  to  the  just,  and  the  evil  on  tiie 
contrary  the  same.  Now  then,  where  either  the 
body  or  the  mind  is  in  disorder,  what  signify  these 
external  conveniences?  Considering  that  the  least 
prick  with  a  pin,  or  the  least  passion  of  the  soul,  is 
sufficient  to  deprive  us  of  tne  pleasure  of  bemg 
monarchs  of  the  world.  At  the  first  twitch  of  the 
gout,  it  is  to  much  purpose  to  be  called  sir,  and  your 
majesty : 

ToluSf  et  argento  co^fiatus^  iotus  et  auro.\ 
And  to  abound  with  diver  and  gold. 

Does  he  not  forget  his  palaces  and  grandeur  ?  If  he 
be  angry,  can  his  being  a  prince  ^eep  him  from 
looking  red,  and  turning  pale,  and.  grinding  hip 
teeth  like  a  madman  ?  Now  if  he  be  a  man  of  parts, 
and  well  descended,  royalty  adds  veiy  little  to  his 
happiness : 

SivetUri  heni^  si  lateri  est  pedibusque  itds^  nil 
DiuiiiiB  poterunt  regales  aadere  fnajiis.l 

Who  tastes  the  happiness  fiom  hoilth  whieh  flows, 
Beaps  greater  bliss  Uian  regal  weakh  bestows. 

He  discerns  it  is  nothing  but  false  and  counterfeit. 
Nay,  pef'haps,  he  would  be  of  king  Seleucus's  opi- 
nion,S  that  he  who  knew  the  weight  of  a  sceptre, 
would  nojt  stoop  to  take  it  up  from  the  ground; 
which  he  said  in  reference  to  the  great  and  painful 
duty  incumbent  upon  a  good  king.  DoubUess  it 
can  be  no  easy  task  to  riue  others,  when  we  find  it 

*  De  Legibusy  lib.  ii.  p,  579,  where  this  subject  is  handled  at 
large,  and  after  a  divine  manner. 

+  Hor.  lib.  i.  el.  1,  ver.  71.  J  Idem,  lib.  i.  ep.  12,  ver.  5,  S. 

§  Plutarch,  in  his  tract,  whether  an  old  man  ought  to  concern 
himself  with  public  affiurs,  cf^  1S» 


OF  IK£aUALITr«  S47 

so  bard  a  matta:  to  govern  ourselves.  And  as  to  the 
thiqg  dominicmy  that  seems  so  charming,  considesFing 
the  frailty  of  hu^ian  ivisdom,  and  the  difficulty  of 
<Jioice  in  things  that  are  new  and  doubtful,  i  am 
very  much  of  opinion,  that  it  is  much  more  easy  and 

Eleasant  to  follow  than  to  lead :  and  that  it  is  a  great, 
appiness  to  the  mind,  to  have  only  one  beaten  part 
to  walk  in,  and  to  have  none  to  answer  for  but  tor  a 
man's  self: 

Ut  saiiis  nuiUo  jdm  aifparere  quietum, 
Qudm  regere  mperio  res  veUe.* 

So  that 'tis  better  calmly  to  obejr. 

Than  io  the  storms  of  state  a  sceptre  sway. 

To  which  we  may  add  that  saying  of  Cyrus,  that  no 
man  was  fit  to  rule,  but  he  who  in  his  own  worth  was 
superior  to  all  those  he  was  to  govern. 

JSut  king  Hiercm,  in  Xenophon,t  says  farther,  that  Kiogt  not 
even  in  the  fruition  of  pleasure,  they  are  in  a  worse  |^^JJ^ 
condition  than  private  men;  forasmuch  as  the  op  to  taste 
portunities  and  &cility  they  have  of  obtaining  it,^^"^ 
diminish  the  enjoyment : 

Pingus  amor,  rAammcme  potensy  in  Uedia  nobis 
Vertiiurf  et  stamacho  aukts  ui  esca  neceLl 

Excessive  love,  in  loathing  ever  ends. 

As  richest  sauce  the  stotaiach  most  oflfends. 

Can  we  think  that  the  singing  boys  of  die  choir  take 
any  great  pleasure  in  their  own  music;  they  are 
rather  surfeited  with  it  Feasts,  balls,  masquerades, 
and  tiltings,  delight  such  as  but  rarely  see,  and  desire 
to  be  at  such  solemnities :  but  after  frequent  repeti* 
tions,  the  rdish  of  them  grows  flat  and  harsh.  Nay» 
the  ladies  do  not  so  much  charm  those  who  often 
enjoy  them.  He  who  anticipates  thirst,  can  never 
find  the  true  pleasure  of  driuKing.  Stage  plays,  and 
tumbling  tricks,  are  pleasant  to  me  spectators,  but  a 

*  Lucret.  lib.  v.  ver.  1 12S. 

t  In  Xenophon's  Tract,  enthled,  Hieroii,  or  the  Condition  of 
Kings. 
X  Ov.  Amor.  lib.  iL  el^.  19i 


d4S  OF  INEQUALmr. 

dradgery  to  those  by  whom  they  are  perfbnned. 
And  this  is  actually  so ;  we  see  that  princes  divert 
themselves  sometfmes,  in  disguising  tneir  qualities, 
to  stoop  to  the  forms  of  low  and  vulgar  life : 

Plerumque  gratof  principUms  vkeSf 
Mund(B(fue  parvo  sub  lore  pauperum 
CcencB  sine  aulceisy  et  osiro, 
'    SuUicitum  explicuere  fimterfi^ 

Changes  have  often  pleas'd  the  great ; 

And  in  a  cell  a  homely  treat 

Of  healthy  food,  and  cleanly  dressM ; 

Though  DO  rich  hangings  grace  the  rooms^ 

Or  pijurpl^  wrought  in  Tyrian  looflDU», 

Have  smoothed  a  wrinkled  hrow^  and  caImM  a  ruffled  breast* 

Nothing  is  so  distasteful  and  clogging,  as  abun* 
dance.     What  man's  appetite  would  not  be  palled, 
to  see  three  hundred  women  at  his  service,  as  the 
grand  seignior  has  in  his  seraglio  ?  And  whai;  enjoy- 
ment  of  pleasure  did  he  reserve  to  himself,  who  never 
went  a  hawking  with  less  than  seven  thousand  fal« 
coners? 
Why  great     Besi4es,  I  think  that  grandeur  is  no  small  enemy 
mcu  ought  to  pleasures.    Great  men  are  too  conspicuous,  and 
^rrfuuf*lic  too  open  to  every  one's  remark.    They  are  ob- 
conceaiing  Hffed  morc  than  others  to  conceal  their  errors,  since 
tbaniiidc*wnat  is  ouly  reputed  indiscretion  in  us,  the  people 
brand  in  them  with  the  names  of  tyranny,  and  con- 
tempt of  the  laws.     Plato,  indeed,  in  his  Gorgias, 
defines  a  tyrant  to  be  one,  who,  in  a  city,  has  licence 
to  do  whatever  he  will.      And  for  this  reason,  the 
publication  of  their  vice  does  oftentimes  more  mis- 
chief than  the  vice  itself.     Every  one  fears  tp  be 
pried  into,  or  controlled  j  but  princes  are,  even  to 
their  very  looks  and  thoughts  ;  the  people  conceiv- 
ing that  they  have  a  right,  and  an  interest  to  be 
judges  of  them:  besides,  that  spots  appear  greater, 
by  reason  of  the  eminence  and  lustre  of  the  place 
^Uere  they  are  seated  y  and  that  a  speck,  or  a  wart^ 

*  Hon  lib.  iii.  cde  29,  ver.  13,  &p. 


L 


oT  iNEaUAtrrf .  S49 

seems  greater  in  them,  than  a  gash  does  in  others^ 
This  is  the  reason  why  the  poets  feign  the  amours  of 
Jupiter  to  be  carried  on  in  borrowed  shapes ;  and 
amongst  the  many  amorous  intrigues  they  lay  to  his 
charge,  there  is  only  one,  as  I  remember,  where  he 
appears  in  his  own  majesty  and  grandeur. 

But  let  us  return  to  Hieron,  who  com|Jains  ofKiDpcow- 
the  inconveniences  he  foimd  in  his  royalty,*  in  that  n^^Jts^^ 
he  could  not  go  abroad,  and  travel  at  liberty,  being  ihe^r  "'^^ 
as  it  were  a  prisoner  within  the  bounds  of  his  own^°"^^' 
dominion ;  and  that,  in  all  his  actions,  he  was  sur- 
rounded with  a  troublesome  crowd.  And  in  truth, 
to  see  our  kings  sit  all  alone  at  table,  environed  with 
so  many  people  talking,  and  so  many  strangers 
staring  upon  him,  I  have  often  been  moved,  rather 
to  pity,  than,  to  envy  them.  King  Alphonsus  was 
wont  to  say,  that,  in  tnis  respect,  asses  were  in  a  bet- 
ter condition  than  kings,  their  masters  permitting 
them  to  feed  at  their  ease ;  a  grant  which  kings  can^- 
not  obtain  of  their  servants.  And  it  would  never 
enter  into  my  fancy,  that  it  could  be  of  any  benefit 
to  the  life  of  a  man  of  sense,  to  have  twenty  people 
prating  about  him  when  he  is  at  stool ;  or  that  the 
services  of  a  man  of  ten  thousand  livres  a  year,  or 
that  has  taken  Casal,  or  defended  Siena,  should  be 
more  commodious  and  acceptable  to  him,  than 
those  of  a  good  experienced  valet. 

The  advantages  of  sovereignty  are  but  imaginary.  The  < 


in  a  manner :  every  degree  of  fortune  has  in  it  some  eiumr^ 
shadow  of  sovereignty.     Caesar  calls  all  the  lords  of gf"*)*""* 
France,  having  free  n*anchise  within  their  own  de- 1°  m  ".*^ 
mesnes,  Rovtelets,  or  petty  kings ;    and,  in  truth, taigncs 
the  name  of  Sire  excepted,  they  go  a  great  length  *"*** 
with  our  monarchs :  for  do  but  look  into  the  pro- 
vinces remote  from  court,  as  Brittany  for  example, 
and  take  notice  of  the  attendants,  the  vassals,  the 
'  officers,  the  employment,  service,  and  ceremony  of 
a  nobleman,  that  lives  retired  from  court,  at  his  own 

*  In  2^iiophon'«  Tract,  entitled,  Hieron,  sect.  3. 


9SQ  OF  iNEauALmr* 

howHR  in  the  country,  and  that  has  been  bred  up 
amongst  his  tenants  and  servants ;  and  observe  the 
flight  of  his  imagination ;  there  is  nothing  more  royal ; 
he  hears  talk  of  his  soverei^  once  a-year,  as  of  a 
I(ing  of  Persia,  without  taking  any  farther  notice  of 
him,  than  as  some  remote  kindred  in  his  secretary's 
register.  And,  in  truth,  our  laws  are  easy  enough; 
so  easy,  that  a  gentleman  of  France  scarce  feels  the 
weight  of  sovereignty  above  twice  in  his  life.  Beal 
and  effectual  subjection  only  concerns  such  amongst 
us,  as  voluntarily  accommodate  themselves  to  it,  and 
who,  by  such  services,  aim  at  wealth  and  honour : 
for  a  man  that  loves  his  own  fire-side,  and  can  govern 
his  house,  without  engaging  in  quarrels,  or  suits  of 
law,  is  as  free  as  a  duke  of  Venice.  Paucos  ser* 
vituSf  plures  servitutem  tenent  ;•  "  Servitude  seizes 
&w,  but  many  seize  her."  But  that  which  most  a£ 
fected  Hieron  was,  that  he  found  himself  destitute 
of  all  firiendship,  and  mutual  society,  wherein  jthe 
best  and  most  perfect  enjoyment  of  human  life  con- 
sist For  what  testimony  of  affection  and  g€>od-will 
can  I  draw  from  him  that  owes  me,  whether  he  will 
or  no,  all  that  he  ia  able  to  perform  ?  Can  I  place 
any  dependance  on  his  real  respect  to  me,  fitim  his 
humble  way  of  speaking,  and  submissive  behaviour, 
when  he  is  not  at  liberty  to  refuse  it  to  me  ?  The 
humour  we  receive  from  those  that  fear  us,  is  not 
honour;  those  respects  are  paid  to  my  royalty,  and 
not  to  me. 

Maximum  hoc  tegni  Imrnm  esU 
Quod  fuda  domini  cogiiur  populus  sui 
Quamfirre^  tamkmdare.f 

Tis  the  great  benefit  of  kings,  thut  they 
Who  are  by  law  subjected  to  their  sway, 
Are  bound,  in  all  their  princes  say  or  do, 
Not  only  to  submit,  but  praise  it  too. 

Do  I  not  see  that  the  wicked  and  the^ood  kiflg,  he 
that  is  hated,  and  he  that  is  beloved,  nas  the  one  as 

*  Seneca,  ep.  38»       f  Seneca^  Thies$.  ac^.  ii.  fc- 1,  vcTf  30,  &c 


Much  reverence  paid  him  w  the  other  ?  My  prede- 
cesser  was,  and  my  successor  will  be,  served  with  the 
same  state.  If  my  subjects  do  me  no  harm,  it  is  no 
evidence  c^  any  good  affection ;  why  should  I  look 
upon  it  as  such,  seeing  it  is  not  in  their  power  to  do 
it,  if  they  would?  No  one  follows  me,  upon  the 
account  of  any  friendship  between  him  and  me ;  for 
there  can  be  no  contracting  of  friendship,  wheie 
diere  is  so  little  relation  and  correspondence:  mf 
own  high  station  has  put  me  out  of  a  fomiliarity  witn 
men :  &ere  is  too  great  disparity  between  us ;  they 
follow  me  either  upon  the  account  of  decency  and 
custom ;  or  rather  my  fortune  than  me,  to  increase 
their  own :  all  they  say  to  me^  or  do  for  me,  is  but 
dissembled,  their  liberty  being,  on  all  sides,  re- 
strained by  the  great  power  I  have  over  1hem«  I 
see  nothing  about  me  but  what  is  under  covert  and  il 
mask.  The  emperor  Julian  being  one  day  applauded 
by  his  courtiers  for  his  exact  justice  :*  ^'  I  would  be 
*^  proud  of  these  praises,"  said  he,  ^^  did  they  cdm6 
'^  from  persons  tnat  durst  condemn  or  disapprove 
**  the  contrary,  in  case  I  should  do  it."  Afi  die 
real  advantages  of  princes  are  common  to  them  with 
men  c^  the  middle  rank.  It  is  for  the  gods  to  mount 
winged  horses,  and  foed  upon  ambrosia;  kings  have 
no  other  sleep,  nor  other  appetite,  than  we;  their 
steel  is  of  no  better  temper  than  that  we  arm  our* 
selves  with ;  their  crowns  neither  defend  them  from 
.  the  rain,  nor  the  sun. 

Dioclesian,  who  wore  a  brown  with  great  honour  why  ix*. 
and  good  fortune,  resigned  it  for  the  happiness  of  aj^|^|jJj"2J 
private  life:    and  some  time  after,   the  necessity empuc 
of  public  affiurs  requiring  that  he  should  re-assume 
his  chai^,  he  said  to  those  who  came  to  court  him 
to  it,  "  You  would  not  offer  to  persuade  me  to  this, 
**  had  you  seen  the  fine  row  of  trees  I  have  planted 
^*  in  my  orchard,  and  the  delicate  melons  I  have 
**  sowed  in  my  garden."     -  . 

f  Ammianus  jNIarceL  lib.  xxvii.  cap.  10. 


352  OF  INEQUALirift 

The  hap.  In  the  6pinion  of  Anacharsis,  the  happiest  state  erf 
^romwl  government  would  be,  where,  all  other  things  being 
equal,  precedency  should  be  dealt  to  the  virtues,* 
and  repulses  to  the  vices  of  men. 
thevain  When  king  Pyrrhus  prepared  for  his  expedition 
ttffPyrrhii».into  Italy,  his  wise  counsellor  Cyneas,  to  make  him 
sensible  of  the  vanity  of  his  amotion :  "  Well,  sir," 
said  he,t  *^  to  what  end  do  you  make  all  this  mighty 
**  preparation?'!  "  To  make  myself  master  of  Italy." 
replied  the  king.  "  And  what  then  ?"  said  C^eas^ 
.  ^^  I  will  pass  over  into  Gaul  and  Spain^"  said  the 
other.  "  And  what  next  ?"  **  I  will  then  go  to  re* 
^^  duce  Africa ;  and  lastly,  when  I  have  brought  the 
**  whole  world  to  my  subjection,  I  will  rest  cmitent, 
**  and  live  at  my  own  ease."  "For  God's  sake, 
"  sir,"  replied  Cyneas,  "  teU  me  what  hinders  that 
^  you  may  not,  if  you  please,  be  now  in  that  con* 
**  dition  ?  Why  do  you  not  now,  at  this  instant,  set-" 
^^  tie  yourself  in  tlie  state  you  say  you  aim  at,  and 
'^  spare  yourself  the  labour  and  hazard  you  must 
"  encounter :"  ^  ^ 

NimirUm  quia  non  len}  norai  quee  esset  hahendi 
Ftnisj  et  omnino  quoad  crescat  vera  voluptas^X 

The  end  of  being  rich  he  did  not  know ; 
Nor  to  what  pitch  felicity  should  grow. 

I  Will  conclude  with  an  old  observation  which  I 
think  very  pat  to  the  purpose : 

Mores  cuiquesui  Jingunt  fortunam.§ 

Himself,  not  fortune,  ev*iy  one  must  blame, 

Since  men's  own  manners  all  their  fortunes  frame. 

•  Plutarch,  in  the  Banquet  of  the  seven  wise  Men,  ch.  13. 
t  Plutarch,  in  the  Life  of  Pyrrhus,  chap.  7  of  Amyot*s  Trans- 
lation. 
}  Lttcret.  lib.  V.  ¥er.  1431.  §  Com.  Nep.  in  Viu  Attid. 


L 


OF  SUMPTUARY  LAWS.  S£S 

CHAPTER  XLIIL 

Of  Sumptuary  Laws. 

jL  he  method  by  which  our  laws  attempt  to  re-  chaa  aod 
guiate  idle  and  vain  expenses  in  meat  and  clothes,  {iJyj^~ 
seem  to  be  quite  contrary  to  the  ertd  designed.    ThfespUed  bys 
true  way  would  be,  to  beget  in  men  a  colitempt  of  SI^"^^^ 
•silks  and  gold,  as  vain  and  useless ;  whereas  we  addjects. 
honour  and  value  to  them,  which  sure  is  a  very  im- 
proper way  to  create  disgust.     For  to  enact,  that 
none  but  princes  shall  eat  turbot,  nor  wear  velvet  or 
gold  lace,  and  interdict  these  things  to  the  people, 
what  is  it  but  to  bring  them  into  greater  esteem,  and 
to  set  every  one  more  agog  to  eat  and  wear  them  ? 
Let  kings  (without  more  ado)  leave  off  these  en- 
signs of  grandeur,  they  have  enough  besides ;  such 
excesses  are  more  excusable  in  a  subject,  than  a 
prince.     We  may  learn,  by  the  example  of  several 
nations,  better  ways  for  the  external  distinction  of 
rank  and  quality  (which  truly  I  conceive  to  be  very 
requisite  in  a  state),  witliout  fostering  such  manifest 
corruption  and  inconvenience  for  this  purpose.  - 

It  is  strange  how  suddenly,  and  with  how  much  wben  siik 
ease,  custom,  in  these  indifferent  things,  establishes  ^^,J^ 
itself,  and  becomes  audiority.     We  hsd  scarce  worn  dfspiMid  in 
cloth  a  year,  for  the  court  mourning  of  Henry  the^'*'***- 
Second,  till  silks  were  grown  into  such  uhiversal    ' 
contempt,  that  a  man  so  clad,  was  presently  con- 
cluded to  be  a  citizen.    The  sUks  were  divided  be- 
tween the  physicians  and  surgeons,  and  though  all 
other  people  almost  went  in  the  same  dress,  there 
were  notwithstanding,  in  one  respect  or  other,  visi- 
ble distinctions  of  men's  qualities.     How  suddenly 
are  the  greasy  chamois  doublets  become  the  fashion 
in  our  armies,  whilst  all  neatness  and  richness  of 

VOL.  I.  2  A 


554  or  SUMPTUAET  LAWS« 

habit  fall  into  contempt?  Let  kings  but  begin   to 
leave  off  this  expense,  and  in  a  month  the  business 
will  be  done  throuffout  the  kingdom ;  and  without 
an  edict  we  shall  iQl  follow,     ft  should  be  rather 
proclaim^  on  the  contrary,  that  no  one  should  wear 
scarlet  or  gold  lace,  but  whores  and  tumblers, 
theiawi       Zaleucus,  with  the  like  invention,  reclaimed  -the 
J^^^tfarrupted  manners  of  the  Locrians.       His   laws 
no  check    were,*  that  no  free  woman  should  be  allowed  any 
^^^'     more  than  one  maid  to  follow  her,  unless  she  was 
drunk :  nor  was  to  stir  out  of  the  city  by  n^t^  nor 
wear  Jewds  of  gold,  or  an  embroidered  gown,  un- 
less we  was  a  professed  whore;  no  men  but  ruffians 
were  to  wear  a  gold  rinff^  nor  to  be  seen  in  one  of 
those  effeminate  vests  of  the  manufacture  of  Mile- 
tum.     By  which  infamous  exceptions,  he  diverted 
his  citizens  from  superfluities,  and  pernicious  plea- 
sures ;  and  it  was  a  project  of  great  utility  to  attract 
men,  by  honour  and  ambition,  to  their  duty  and 
obedience. 
The  cmirt      Our  kiugfil  may  do  what  they  please  in  such  external 
Ti^V  for''  reformations ;  their  own  inclinations  stand  in  this  case 
th<;  French  for  a  law.     Quicfuid  principes  faciunt^  pracipere  w- 
"*^'*^"'     dentur  ;t    **  What  princes  themselves  do,  they  seem 
^^  to  enjoin  others  to  do.''    Whatever  is  done  at 
court,  passes  for  a  rule  through  the  rest  of  France. 
Let  the  courtiers  but  discountenance  those  abomi- 
nable breeches,  that  discover  so  much  c^  the  parts 
which  should  be  concealed ;  those  tun-bellied  dou- 
blets, that  make  us  look  like  I  know  not  what,  and 
are  so  unfit  for  the  bearing  of  arms ;  those  long  efie- 
minate  locks  of  hair ;    the  silly  custom  of  kissing 
what  we  present  to  our  equals,  as  well  as  our  hands 
in  saluting  them ;  a  ceremony  in  former  times  only 
due  to  princes :  let  them  not  indulge  a  gentleman  to 

*  Diodor.  Sicul.  lib.  xii.  cap.  20. 

t  Quintiliaii  pro  mitite  Declamat.  p.  38,  lib.  iii.  in  Svo.  ex  Offi- 
'  cinA  Hackiaaa,  1665. 


OF  8UKFTUART  LAWS.  85^ 

appear  in  a  place  of  respect  without  his  sword,  un- 
buttoned and  untrust,  as  though  he  came  from  the 
house  of  office ;.  and  let  it  not  be  suffered  that,  con- 
trary to  the  custom  of  our  forefathers,  and  the  par- 
ticular privilege  of  the  noblesse  of  this  kingdom,  we 
shall  stand  a  long  way  off  bareheaded  to  them  in 
what  place  soever,  and  the  same  to  a  hundred  others 
(so  many  tierces  and  quarts  of  kings  we  have  got 
now-a-days),  and  the  like  of  other  such  vicious  in- 
novations }  they  will  see  them  all  presently  vanish. 
TTiese  are,  it  is  true,  superficial  errors,  but,  how- 
Bver,  a  bad  prognostic ;  and  it  is  enough  to  inform 
tis  that  the  whole  fabric  is  crazy  and  tottering,  when 
we  see  the  rough-cast  of  our  walls  cleave  and  spirt. 

Flato,  in  his  laws,*  esteems  nothing  of  more  pet- New  fash* 
tiicious  consecjuence  to  his  city,  than  to  give  youth  J^"'^^*^ 
the  liberty  of  introducing  any  change  in  their  habits,  ^  ^^^ 
gestures,  dances^   songs,   and  exercises,   from  one 
form  to  another  ;t  shuting  from  this  to  that  side^ 
hunting  after  novelties,    and  applauding  the    in- 
ventors ;   by  which  means  manners  are  corrupted, 
and  the  old  institutions  come  to  be  nauseated  and 
despised.     In  all  things,  saving  only  in  those  that  are 
evil,  a  change  is  to  be  feared ;  even  the  change  of 
seasons,  winds,  provisions,  and  humours.     And  ho 
laws  are  in  their  true  credit,  but  those  to  which  God 
has  given  so  long  a  continuance,  that  no  one  knows 
their  beginning,  or  that  there  ever  were  others. 

•  lib.  VH.  p.  681. 

f  At  present  the  wit  and  politeness  of  several  European  nations 
consist  very  much  in  frequenUy  altering  the  fashion  of  their  clothes, 
and  in  treadng  those  they  have  just  quitted  with  insipid  raillery,  if 
those  modes  are  still  kept  up  by  their  neighbours,  or  m  any  town  of 
tbecountry,  remote  from  the  capital.  J^  to  this  human fraUty,  see 
Montaiigne,  dL  idix.  of  tins  volume. 


2a2 


S56  OFSMEF. 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 

Of  Sleep. 

iVEASON  directs,  that  we  should  always  go  the 
same  way,  but  not  always  the   same  pace.     And 
consequently,  though  a  wise  man  ought  not  so  much 
to  give  the  reins  to  human  passions,  as  to  let  them 
turn  him  from  the  right  path;    he  may,  notwith- 
standing, without  prejudice  to  his  duty,  leave  it  to 
tliem  to  hasten,  or  to  slack  his  speed,  and  not  fix 
himself  like  a  motionless  and  insensible  colossus. 
Could  virtue  itself  put  on  flesh  and  blood,  I  believe 
the  pulse  would  beat  faster  going  on  to  an  assault, 
than  in  going  to  dinner :  nay,  there  is  a  necessity  it 
should  '^eat  and  be  moved  upon  this  head.     I  have 
taken  notice,  as  of  an  uncommon  thing  in  some  great 
men,  who,  in  the  highest  and  most  important  enter- 
prises, have  be6n  loth  to  rise  from  their  seat,  or  so 
The  pro-    much  as  to   shorten  their  sleep.*     Alexander  th^ 
S""omJ'*'^  Great,  on  the  day  assigned  for  that  decisive  battle 
<reat  per-  with  Darius,  slept  so  profoundly  and  so  long  in  the 
thrh^molt  morning,    that   Parmenio  was  forced  to   enter  his 
important  chamber,  go  to  his  bed  side,  and  to  call  him  several 
times  by  his  name,  in  order  to  awake  him,  because 
the  hour  of  battle  was  just  at  hand. 
The  cmpe-      The  cmpcror  Otho,  having  put  on  a  resolution  to 
like  caco    ^^  himsdf,  the  same  night,  after  having  settled  his 
iieptjuft'  domestic  affairs,  divided  his  money  amongst  his  sef- 
km^hiLi-  vants,  and  set  a  good  edge  upon  a  sword  he  had  made 
•elf.         choice  of  for  the  purpose,t  and  staying  only  to  be 
satisfied  whether  all  his  friends  were  retired  in  safety, 
he  fell  into  such  a  sound  sleep,  that  the  gentlemen  of 

*  Plutarch,  in  the  Life  of  Alexander,  ch.  11  of  Amyot's  trans- 
lation. 

f  Plutarch,  in  the  Life  of  Otho,  ch.  8. 


OP  SLEEl*.  SS7 

liis  chamber  heard  him  snof  e.  The  death  of  this  em- 
peror has  in  it  many  circumstances  similar  to  that  ©f 
the  great  Cato,  and  particularly  this :  for  Cato  being 
ready  to  dispatch  himself,  whilst  he  only  staiid  his 
hand  till  they  brought  him  the  news,  whether  the 
senators  he  had  sent  away  were  put  out  from  the  port 
of  Utica,*  he  fell  into  so  sound  a  sleep,  that  they 
heard  him  into  the  next  room ;  and  he,  whom  he 
had  sent  to  the  port,  having  awaked  him,  to  let  him 
know  that  the  tempestuous  weather  had  hindered  the 
senators  from  putting  to  sea,  lie  dispatched  away  an- 
other messenger,  and  composing  himself  agaan  in  the 
bed,  slept  so,  till,  by  the  return  of  the  last  messen- 
ger, he  had  certain  intelligence  they  were  gone. 

We  may  here  further  compare  him  with  Alexander  cato'i 
too,  in  that  great  and  dangerous  storm  that  threat-  }^°?j"*^j;^ 
ened  Cato  by  the  sedition  of  the  tribime  Metellus,  fore  a  po- 
who,  attempting  to  publish  a  decree  for  tlje  calling  J^^^^^*;~ 
of  Pompey  with  his  army  into  the  city,  at  the  time 
of  Catiline's  conspiracy,  was  opposed  only  by  Gato^ 
so  that  very  sharp  language  and  bitter  menaces  passed 
between  them  in  the  senate  about  that  affair ;  but  it 
was  the  next  day,  in  the  forenoon,  that  the  contro- 
versy was  to  be  decided,  when  Metellus,  besides  the 
favour  of  the  people,  and  of  Caesar  (at  that  time  of 
Pompey's  faction),  was  to  appear  accompanied  with 
a  rabble  of  foreign  slaves  and  desperate  fencers;  and 
Cato  only  fortified  with  his  own  courage  and  con- 
stancy ;  so  that  his  relations,  domestics,  and  many 
good  people  were  in  great  apprehensions  for  him ; 
and  some  there  were,  who  passed  the  whole  night 
without  sleep,  eating,  or  drinking,  because  of  the 
manifest  danger  they  saw  him  exposed  to ;  for  which 
his  wife  and  sisters  did  nothing  but  weep,  and  tor- 
ment themselves  in  his  house ;  whereas  he,  on  the 
contrary,  comforted  every  one,  and  after  hiaving 
gupped  in  his  usual  manner,  went  to  bed,t  and  slept 

•  Plutarch,  in  the  Life  of  Cato  of  Utica,  oh.  la     i  U.  ibid.  <*•  & 


_J 


ft5»  Qf«USEP« 

prcrfbuAdly  till  monung,  that  one  of  his  feUow-tri*- 

Dunes  roused  him  to  go  to  the  encounter.   The  know-* 

ledge  we  have  of  the  greatness  of  this  man's  courage 

from  the  rest  of  his  life»  may  warrant  us  to  pro* 

nounce,  that  his  indifference  proceeded  from  a  soul 

so  much  elevated  above  such  accidents,  that  he  dis- 

daiiied  to  let  it  take  any  more  hold  of  his  thou  j^ 

than  any  other  ordinary  adventure. 

Prbfoand       In  the  uaval  victory  that  Augustus  won  of  Scxtus 

A^^s   Pompeius  in  Sicily,  just  as  they  were  to  b^n  the 

jmi  before  j^t  he  was  so  fast  asleep,  that  nis  friends  were  oom- 

•  «»ii*«-    pelled  to  wake  him  to  give  the  signal  of  battle:*  and 

thk  was  what  gave  Mark  Antony  afterwards  occamn 

to  reproach  hmi,  that  he  had  not  the  courage^  so 

much  as  with  open  eyes,  to  behold  the  order  of  his 

*  battle,  nor  to  mce  the  soldiers,  till  Agrippa  had 

brought  him  news  of  the  victory  he  had  obtained 

Over  his  enemies. 

But  as  to  young  Marius,  who  did  much  wwae  (fot 
the  day  of  the  last  battle,  against  SyUa^t  after  he  had 
marshalled  his  army,  and  given  the  word  and  the 
signal  of  battle,  he  laid  him  down  under  the  shade 
of  a  tree  to  repose  himself,  and  fdl  so  &at  adeep, 
that  the  rout  and  flight  of  his  men  could  harmy 
awake  him,  having  seen  nothing  of  the  %ht)>  he  is 
said  to  have  been  at  that  time  so  extremely  sprat, 
with  labour  and  want  of  sleep,  that  nature  could 
hold  out  no  longer.  Now,  upon  what  has  been  said, 
tiie  ph3rsicians  mar  consider  whetbw  sleep  be  so 
necessary  that  our  lives  depend  upon  it :  for  we  read 
that  king  Perseus,  of  Macedon,  being  prisoner  at 
Rome,  was  killed  bv  being  debarred  from  sleep ;  but 
Pliny  instances  sucn  as  have  lived  long  without  steep.t 
Herodotus  speaks  of  nations,  where  Uie  men  sleep 

*  Suetonius,  in  the  Life  of  Augustus,  ci^.  16. 

f  Plutarch,  in  the  Life  of  Sylla,  cap.  1& 

X  He  mentions  but  one  instance  thati  find,  which  is  of  Msecenas, 
who,  he  says,  for  the  ]aat  three  years  of  his  life  had  not  one  mo^ 
neon's  sleep.    Nat.  Hist.  lib.  vii.  cap.  52; 


OF  TH£  BATTL£  OF  BREUX.  959 

and  i^ake  by  half  years.*  And  they  who  wrote  the 
life  of  Epimeiudes  afiirm,  that  he  slept  jOfty^seveo 
years  together.t 


CHAPTER  XLV, 

Of  the  Battle  of  Dreux. 

VJUR  battle  of  Dreux*  is  remarkable  &r  severdl 
uncommon  accidents :  but  such  as  do  not  much  &- 
vour  die  reputation  of  the  duke  of  Guise,  say  he 
was  to  blame  for  making  a  hsdt,  and  delaying  time 
with  the  forces  he  commanded,  w.hilst  the  constable, 
who  was  general  of  the  army,  was  raked  through 
and  through  with  the  enemy's  artillery :  and  that  he 
had  much  better  have  run  the  hazard  of  charging 
Che  enemy  in  the  flank,  than  staying  for  the  ad* 
vantage  of  falling  in  upon  the  rear,  to  suffer  so  great 
a  loss. 

But,  besides  what  the  event  demonstrated,  who-vicury, 
ever  will  consider  it  without  prejudice,  will,  I  tliink,  p'S  aliJ^Jf 
easily  be  induced  to  confess  that  the  aim  and  design,  tiiesenerai 
not  of  a  captain  only,  but  of  every  private  soldier,  soldier!'^ 
ouffht  to  be  a  victory  in  general ;  and  that  no  parti* 
cubr  occurrences,  how  nearly  soever  they  may  con- 
cern his  own  interest,  should  divert  him  from  that 
pursuit.    Phildpcemen,§  in  an  encounter  with  Ma^ 
chanidas,  having  sent  before  a  good  strong  party  of 

*  Herodotus  speaks  of  this  obIj  by  liear-saj,  and  positively  de* 
daces  be  did  not  believe  it,  lib.  iv«  p.  264.  But  perhaps  he  took  this 
story  in  too  literal  a  sense,  and  that  it  was  intended  for  no  other  than 
a  hint  to  him,  that  the  people  who  live  under  the  pole,  are  deprived 
of  the  light  of  the  sun  for  six  months  in  the  ^ear,  but  enjoy  it  for 
the  following  six  months ;  ivhich  is  very  true,  if  there  be  inhabitants  '^ 
in  that  part  of  the  globe. 

f  Diogenes  Laertius,  in  the  Life  of  Epimenidesy  lib.  i.  sect.  109, 

X  It  was  fought  anno  1562,  in  the  reign  of  Charles  IX.  and  woo 
by  the  conduct  and  valour  of  the  duke  of  Guise. 

^  P)utarcb,  in  the  Life  of  Philopoemeny  cap.  6f 


360 


Battle  of 
Agesilaos 
ivitb  (he 
BoeotiAiu. 


Of  THE  BATTLE  OF  DBEUX. 

his  archers,  to  begin  the  skirmish,  which  were  routed 
by  the  enemy,  the  pursuers  pushing  on  their- victory 
near. the  corps  where  Fhilopoemen  was,  though  his 
soldiers  were  impatient  to  fall